


again, like this

by noodletastic



Series: again and again [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Biting, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Angst, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, idiot young adults thereafter, third year sakuatsu in chapter one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29129124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodletastic/pseuds/noodletastic
Summary: “I’m pissed off because we lost, and we should have won.” Sakusa's staring at him again with those stupid black eyes that give away absolutelynothing.“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know the feelin’.”“And I just want-” Suddenly, Sakusa looks as frustrated as Atsumu has felt all fucking day. “I want to break something.”“Yeah,” Atsumu says, and it comes out like a sigh. “I wanna- I wanna practice serves until my hand's numb.”“Until my fingers cramp.”“Until my fingersbreak.”“I want-” Sakusa stops, swallowing thickly. “I want to forget about it.”---or: when nationals don't go their way in their third year, atsumu and sakusa distract themselves with each other.and it keeps happening.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: again and again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184069
Comments: 458
Kudos: 2105
Collections: Wholesome haikyuu fic, ♧SakuAtsu Fics♧





	1. Chapter 1

They should have won.

It’s the only thing Atsumu can think as they line up across from the players of Fukurodani. He bows with the rest of his team, his mind a constant repetition of _we should have won_ even as they step forward to shake hands. Across the net, Keiji Akaashi is expressionless and beautiful, as he’s always been, and Atsumu’s palm is sweaty when they shake hands.

_We should have won._

This is Atsumu’s final trip to Nationals. They've been on a hot streak, winning almost every practice match and blazing forward with no signs of stopping. Even without Kita and Oomimi and Aran, they've been a force and this was the year- _this_ was the year when nationals should have been theirs.

And then the rug was yanked from beneath their feet by Fukurodani. Fukurodani, with a team made up mostly of first year starters. Fukurodani, without Washio, Sarukai, and Konoha- without _Bokuto_ , beats them within two sets. They hadn’t even played a _third set_ because somehow, their fresh-faced libero had figured out exactly how to dig every one of Atsumu’s serves, stopped nearly every _perfect_ spike Atsumu had set.

The trudge to the locker room is almost unbearable. The rest of the team is crying around him, frustration and heartbreak rolling off of them in near tangible waves. Even Osamu is brushing away frustrated tears. The only one not crying other than Atsumu himself is Suna, who seems nearly unaffected beyond the tense line of his mouth and the unnaturally straight set of his usually slouched shoulders.

Atsumu knows he should be crying. Out of all of them, he knows he’s the crybaby, the one prone to loud reactions and emotional outbursts, but he can’t. Even under the weak spray of the showers, his eyes are dry. The only emotion rolling in his chest is _fury_ , potent and nauseating, urging him to do _something._

But there is nothing to be done.

“Oi.”

Atsumu glances at his brother as he tugs on a clean shirt. The only sign that Osamu had been crying is the puffy, reddened skin around his familiar eyes. Usually Atsumu would say something about him looking ugly, but it seems like too much effort, or maybe just the wrong time. Fighting with Osamu wouldn’t soothe him, not right now.

Atsumu hums in acknowledgement and looks away, stuffing his sweaty uniform into his bag.

“You okay?” Osamu asks, and then at the last moment adds, “Fuckface?”

“Fine.” Atsumu shrugs on his jacket, zipping it up to his throat, and pulls his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s just go watch the other matches.” He brushes past Osamu, pretending not to see his bewildered glance at Suna.

\--

The team finds a cluster of seats looking down on the match between Itachiyama and Nekoma. It's hell day, the one day of the competition where teams may be forced into a second match, but Itachiyama and Nekoma are part of the morning bracket, just as Inarizaki had been.

And against all odds, it looks like Itachiyama is _losing._

“The fuck?” Atsumu mutters, leaning forward in his seat. The scoreboard shows a one-to-one set match. They are in the middle of the third set, and Itachiyama is down eleven to nineteen. Nekoma’s Russian had just finished his serve rotation, and from the murmurs of the audience, Atsumu picks up that Lev’s first serve had been shut-out by a dig from Sakusa, followed by a sharp spike from a first year whose name Atsumu doesn’t recognize.

On Itachiyama’s side, Sakusa is up to serve. Atsumu sits back a bit, an odd sense of relief rolling over him. Sakusa’s serves are legendary, as much as it pains him to admit it. He’d played against and with Sakusa enough to know that blocking his serves is almost impossible, usually a matter of luck rather than skill at their level. It should get them the points to close in on Nekoma- Nekoma, who had no fucking right to have made it this far into the rotation anyway, not without Kuroo and whatever their annoying libero had been called.

Sakusa steps up to serve. Atsumu watches him, watches the way he releases a breath and relaxes into his stance. He tosses the ball between his hands before the whistle sounds. Then he steps forward, tosses the ball, jumps in his annoyingly perfect form, hits the ball, gives it that same _nasty_ spin as always-

And Nekoma lifts it before it can touch the floor, right into the hands of their setter, who pushes it in a flawless arch to the kid with the mohawk, who slams it down onto the opposite court, just out of reach of Komori’s dive.

Just like that, Sakusa’s serve rotation ends, and Nekoma’s score ticks over to twenty.

The match is over within fifteen minutes. Itachiyama loses, nineteen to twenty-five, and the anger in Atsumu’s chest returns at full force.

\---

The boys from Itachiyama don’t need to stay in a hotel in their own city, but they do. It just so happens that it is the same hotel where Inarizaki is staying, and when they return after the day’s matches, Motoya is waiting in the lobby.

“Hey! Miya-san!”

Atsumu lets a hiss of breath out between his teeth, before pushing himself to smile lazily at the libero. “Komori-kun,” he greets, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

Motoya comes to a halt just in front of them, wiggling his fingers in a quick greeting to Suna and Osamu who had stopped just behind Atsumu. “Hey! Tough luck today, huh?”

Atsumu just arches a brow, and reminds himself that he wasn’t the only one who was _humiliated_ today, and that Motoya is just being friendly, as always.

“I just wanted to tell you- we’re going out to dinner in a bit, just the third years, and if you guys don’t have plans-” Motoya’s bright eyes break away from him to look at Osamu and Suna, and then back again. “-you should come with us. There’s a barbeque place a block out that we really like.”

“Sounds fun,” Osamu says placidly.

“Fat ass,” Atsumu says immediately, casting his brother a look, before turning back at Motoya. “Sounds fun,” he reiterates, ignoring the sharp elbow Osamu digs into his ribs.

And that’s how Atsumu ends up in a restaurant not only with the third years from Itachiyama, but also a scattering of other third years from other teams. He somehow ends up seated between his brother and Sakusa Kiyoomi. He’d been surprised that Sakusa had even come out, but watching Sakusa slowly disinfect his seat and his space at the table is by far the most entertaining part of the evening, so he can’t complain. 

He is surrounded by chatter, and for once he isn’t the loudest one at the table. Instead, he keeps his head down. He wishes ardently that he’d brought his fake ID along, even though no one would believe he was the only person of-age at the table. A beer would have probably made him feel better. He settles for piling meat on his plate instead, wolfing down more than would be advisable on any day _other_ than one where his dreams of finally taking home a Nationals win had been crushed. He can’t even lose himself in the thread of conversation around the table, completely uninterested in talking about good plays from the match because good plays didn’t _matter_ because they had fucking _lost._

He's sulking, and he doesn't even feel bad about it.

“You’re quiet, Miya.”

Atsumu pulls his eyes away from his water to look over at Sakusa. How long had he been staring at his drink, silently willing it to become a beer, without speaking?

Long enough, apparently, to be called out by the world’s most taciturn person.

“Huh?” he says smartly, meeting Sakusa’s dark eyes with a slow blink.

Sakusa doesn’t have his mask on, because even he isn’t enough of a freak to take it on and off while having a meal. Instead, his face is bare, pale lips twisted in distaste. He has one fist under his chin, his elbow carefully braced on the table on top of a folded napkin.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, watching Atsumu with unreadable eyes, before he says again, “You’re quiet.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes and mimics Sakusa’s posture childishly, barely noticing when his bare elbow lands in a puddle of spilled sauce. “What? You miss me runnin’ my mouth?”

The frown on Sakusa’s face deepens, and for the first time all day, Atsumu feels the anger coiled tight in his belly ease. “I’ve never heard you quiet for so long and was beginning to think you were sick,” he says slowly. “I was hoping to have an excuse to get away from you.”

“No such luck, Omi-Omi,” he drawls, feeling his face curl into a wicked grin. “I’m just fine.”

“Must not be,” Sakusa says mildly. He hasn’t looked away, dark eyes locked on Atsumu’s face. “Or you wouldn’t have lost that match.”

And there’s the anger again, swirling out and snapping at Atsumu’s limbs with sharp teeth. His smile drops immediately, and the anger only rises at the sight of the tiny smirk that curls on Sakusa’s lips. He feels pinned under his gaze, like he’s being challenged to do- something. “Fuck you. Y’all lost to Nekoma, that’s fuckin’ embarrasin’.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “We lost to their setter. He had us figured out by the end of the first set.”

“Yeah. And you fuckin’ lost.”

“I’m _aware_ ,” Sakusa says, sharp. Finally, finally his dark eyes flicker away, and Atsumu feels like he can breathe again. “We never should have lost that match. They were just- _determined_.”

Atsumu makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat and slumps into his seat. “Tell me about it,” he mutters mulishly, pushing a hand through his hair. “Shoulda been able to crush Fukurodani.”

“Should have,” Sakusa agrees mildly, eyes turning back to him.

Atsumu arches a brow, surprised. “Ooh? Are you payin’ me a compliment?”

Sakusa’s eyes narrow. “No.”

“Sounds like yer payin’ me a compliment, Omi-kun.” He grins, stretching languidly in his seat, just to see the way Sakusa physically retreats out of the way of his outstretched arms.

“Don’t call me that.” Sakusa rolls his eyes again, looking away. “Statistically, you should have won. Fukurodani is weaker than it has been the last three years, and your team has been winning. You should have won.”

“Right?” Atsumu lets it come out as a miserable whine, and impulsively adds, “You shoulda beat Nekoma easy, they’re just good on defense.”

“It’s annoying.” Sakusa’s eyes are back on him, and Atsumu realizes with a sudden thrill that having Sakusa’s attention on him feels _good._ They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, not since the last Japanese Youth Intensive. Sakusa had ignored him the entire week, no matter how much Atsumu had tried to get a rise out of him. Now it feels like he's practically _swimming_ in his attention. They’d been talking for nearly five minutes, and _Sakusa_ is the one who’d started it.

At least Atsumu won something today.

They spend the next fifteen minutes cutting apart Nekoma and Fukurodani’s skills in withering detail, outlining exactly how easy it _should_ have been to beat them. Sakusa doesn’t even mention it when Atsumu’s knee drifts against his, too caught up in detailing exactly why Nekoma’s second-year libero’s form is actually terrible to enforce his strict no-touch policy. The small point of contact sizzles in the periphery of Atsumu’s awareness, a quiet throb of _want_ calling out beneath his irritation.

The conversation trails off after a while, both of them running out of bitter complaints and petty digs. Still, their combined fury lingers in the air, and Sakusa’s eyes have been on him for so long that Atsumu is almost afraid of what will happen when he looks away.

He realizes that they’ve been staring at each other in dead silence for too long. He realizes that not only is Sakusa’s knee still touching his, but it is actively pressing against his, and something in Sakusa’s eyes has changed. They aren’t so blank any more, and the irritation that had shone there as they talked about their matches has dissolved, replaced by ambient heat that reminds Atsumu of the last hot embers of a campfire.

The silence lingers for another long moment, and when Atsumu speaks, his voice comes out rougher than he expected it to. “Hey, Omi-Omi,” he says, low enough that Sakusa’s head tips a little to the side to hear him. “I’m kind of tired.”

“Go to bed then,” Sakusa says mildly. His leg shifts, pulling away from Atsumu’s, and Atsumu chases the contact, spreading his thighs to press their knees together again.

“I might get lost, ya know. Goin’ back to the hotel.” Atsumu licks his lips thoughtlessly, and doesn’t miss how Sakusa’s eyes follow the movement before returning to his.

“You’re useless.” Sakusa turns his head away, and his leg retreats again. The quiet tension Atsumu thought was building between them seems to disappear, and his mind is screaming _no no no-_

Sakusa slips his mask back on and scoots his chair away from the table to stand. “I’ll have to take you back then, won’t I?” he says, almost too quietly for Atsumu to hear.

Atsumu’s heartbeat ratchets up, blood pumping so hard so suddenly that he wonders if everyone at the table can hear it. He stands, knocking his knees awkwardly against the table.

Osamu, who has left Atsumu to sulk on his own all evening while absorbed in conversation with Suna and Gin, looks up. “Where’re you goin’?”

“To sleep,” Atsumu says immediately, leering down at him. “What? Ya gonna miss me?”

“Choke,” Osamu says flatly, before looking back at Suna like he’d never looked away, picking back up on their thread of conversation immediately. Atsumu doesn’t miss the way his brother’s hand is settled on Suna’s thigh beneath the table, and usually he’d give him shit about it, but Sakusa is already half-way out of the restaurant, and Atsumu isn’t stupid enough to let this opportunity pass when he can make fun of Osamu any other day of the week.

He falls into step with Sakusa on the sidewalk, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The sun had fully set while they ate, and the chill in the air is enough to sting. It doesn’t help that Sakusa hasn't even spared him a glance, some of the heat that had built between them fizzling into awkward silence.

They make it half a block before Atsumu gives in, filling the silence to assuage his building nerves. “Why’re ya even stayin’ at a hotel? Don’t ya live here?”

“It’s a team building exercise,” Sakusa says. His breath is a visible cloud in the air. Atsumu is a bit jealous that Sakusa is wearing a jacket.

“What, they got ya sharin’ a room with the whole team?” Atsumu laughs, and he knows it sounds obnoxious, but he doesn’t really care. “Sucks for you, Omi-kun, you and your delicate-”

“Don’t call me that,” Sakusa interjects, tossing him a narrow glance. The silence lingers for a long moment, and then he adds, “I made them give me my own room.”

Atsumu huffs a laugh, even as his belly flips nervously. His own room, his own space, _privacy-_

“‘Course you did. Nothing but the best for you,” he taunts.

Sakusa doesn’t rise to the bait, and the last few minutes of their walk are spent in silence. They step into the elevator together, and Sakusa hits the button for his floor with an elbow. The doors close, and Sakusa doesn’t ask what floor Atsumu needs. They settle in opposite corners of the lift, and Atsumu finds himself staring into Sakusa’s eyes again. He wonders if everyone feels like they are being tugged into the gravitational pull of a blackhole when they look at Sakusa, or if that's just him.

The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and Sakusa looks away and steps out. As his feet cross the threshold, without sparing another glance, he says, “Coming?”

Next thing he knows, Atsumu is stepping into Sakusa’s hotel room. His stomach is doing somersaults, close enough to nausea that he isn’t really sure if he’s actually excited. He kicks off his shoes by the door, nearly tripping into the wall. “Fuck-”

Sakusa flips on the light in the entryway, casting the small hotel room in pale light. He steps into the bathroom and Atsumu hears the sink come on. He stands at the door in his socks awkwardly, feeling wrong-footed. He swallows down his nerves and slinks forward, leaning against the doorway. Sakusa is washing his hands, clinically scrubbing between each finger.

“Hey, Omi-Omi-”

“You can wash your hands when I’m done,” Sakusa says, cutting a glance in his direction.

“That’s not what I was gonna-”

“If you wash your hands,” Sakusa continues, as if Atsumu had never interrupted, “There’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll actually let you touch me.”

Atsumu’s mouth shuts with an audible click of his teeth, heat spreading to his cheeks. “I-”

“That’s what we’re doing, right?” Sakusa knocks the handle of the sink with his elbow, cutting off the water, and picks up a hand towel. “We’re going to… touch.”

If Atsumu felt less nervous, he might have called Sakusa out on how entirely fucking _awkward_ that sounded, but instead he just stares at him with wide eyes, mouth moving soundlessly for a moment before he croaks out, “Yeah. Touchin’.”

Sakusa steps back and pointedly looks at the sink. Atsumu moves into place quickly, fumbling with the soap before turning the water back on. He scrubs at his hands more thoroughly than he ever has in his entire life, painstakingly scrapping beneath each of his nails and pushing the water towards scalding hot as he rinses.

It's been the most surreal day of his fucking life. First, he lost to _Fukurodani_ , and then he watched Itachiyama _lose_ , and then he had an almost _civil_ conversation with _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ and now he’s _in his hotel room_ and- and-

Holy shit, not in his wildest _dreams_ had he imagined Sakusa Kiyoomi actually allowing him to _touch him_. Not that he hadn’t wanted to. As soon as he found out that touching wasn’t a thing that Sakusa did, he’d wanted to touch him. Atsumu hates being told _no_ to anything. At first the urge was just to touch because he couldn’t, but then, tangled up in jealousy over Sakusa’s skills and irritation at his fucking terrible personality and annoyance at his peculiarities, was the frustrating acknowledgement that Sakusa's attractive. Heartbreakingly, earth shatteringly attractive in a way that makes Atsumu run his mouth and beg for attention. He wants to know what those dark, perfect curls would feel like between his fingers. He wants to know if Sakusa's hands are rough and calloused the way Osamu’s are, or strong but painstakingly well cared for like Suna’s. He wants to know if his skin is as soft as it looks and if it tastes like rubbing alcohol or like _boy_ or- or-

Atsumu’s wanted to kiss Sakusa’s scowling mouth since the first time he’d seen him take off his stupid mask.

It's aggressively silent when he turns off the water. He grabs another towel to dry his hands, knowing that if he tries to wipe them on his pants Sakusa will just make him wash them again, and suddenly not being able to touch him _immediately_ seems like an absolute nightmare.

He tries his best not to look too desperate as he turns away from the sink, dropping the towel in a careless pile by his feet. He holds up his hands, wiggling his fingers in Sakusa’s direction, getting an unimpressed glower for his efforts. “Squeaky clean,” he brags, and tries to ignore how stupid it sounds in his own ears.

“Very good,” Sakusa praises blandly. He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, his mask hanging from one ear.

Atsumu makes a face, leaning back against the counter. “Mean, Omi-”

“I’m pissed off.”

Atsumu blinks, thrown off by the sudden declaration. “Huh- why? I washed my hands, ya watched me-”

“I’m pissed off because we lost, and we should have won.” Sakusa's staring at him again with those stupid black eyes that give away absolutely _nothing_. The bathroom is both too dark and too bright for Atsumu to read anything in them.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Yeah, I know the feelin’.”

“And I just want-” Suddenly, Sakusa looks as frustrated as Atsumu has felt all fucking day. His mouth is twisted down, a faint furrow appearing between his brows. “I want to break something.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, and it comes out like a sigh. His frustration is surging up again, and mixed in with it is the need to _do_ something. “I wanna- I wanna practice serves until my hand's numb.”

“Until my fingers cramp.”

“Until my fingers _break._ ”

“I want-” Sakusa stops, swallowing thickly. “I want to forget about it.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu agrees, eyes darting down to watch the way Sakusa’s muscles clench and relax at his throat. It makes him feel- hungry. “Omi, I wanna-” He cuts himself off, and he knows without looking that his face is flushed.

“What?” Sakusa asks. His arms drop out of their fold, fingers clenching restlessly at his sides.

Atsumu shouldn’t say it, because if he is reading this wrong- if he isn’t here for the reason he thinks he is-

“I wanna touch ya,” he manages to say, and the words feel like sandpaper, but he can’t stop himself, the rest of his words tumbling out against his will. “I wanna pull your hair and I wanna- kiss ya, and I wanna-” He shivers, because saying that feels like admitting to a crime because Sakusa and _sex_ should be a combination that solely exists in his mind. “I wanna touch ya-”

“I want to kiss you,” Sakusa cuts in, and his voice has dropped an octave, and Atsumu thinks, maybe, that he can _feel_ how the words tremble through the air. “I want to bite you so hard you bleed.”

And isn’t _that_ a picture. Atsumu is a little terrified about what it means about his psyche that those words send blood rushing to his cock. “Yeah, Omi- yeah, that would be-”

“Fuck,” Sakusa curses, like he's pissed at himself, and then he crosses the room, hands clamping down on Atsumu’s wrists so hard Atsumu thinks he might be able to feel the bones grinding together. “Don’t make this a thing-”

“Not a thing,” Atsumu says quickly, tipping his head back a fraction to look up at him properly and _oh_. Sakusa’s eyes aren’t black. They're dark, dark brown, but his pupils are so blown it doesn’t even matter, because his irises are almost entirely consumed. Atsumu’s breath hitches without his consent, mouth falling open to pant out a single breath.

“Don’t- touch me too much,” Sakusa grinds out. “My- hair is fine, and my neck, but-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Omi, whatever ya want-” Atsumu arches up towards him, getting their mouths close enough that he can feel it when Sakusa exhales. “Just, really want- it, whatever-”

“I just need to do something, and you seemed like you wanted to- do something too-” Sakusa’s hands squeeze his wrists even tighter, tight enough that it’s painful, and it makes Atsumu dizzy how fucking _hot_ that is.

“I do, Omi, _fuck-_ ”

“This is just- it’s nothing, but we’re both frustrated-”

“I’m not gonna try to call ya tomorrow or nothing, I fuckin’ swear-” Atsumu leans forward a little more, trying to get their mouths together, and Sakusa leans back, escaping the press of his lips. “ _Fuck_ ,” he whines, and he can’t even muster up the energy to feel embarrassed about begging.

“If- if I tell you to stop doing something, just stop. Or I’ll make you stop.”

Atsumu nods quickly, eyes skittering across Sakusa’s face. “Yeah, I get it, just-”

“Fuck,” Sakusa says, and then he finally closes the distance, their mouths crashing together in a painful click of teeth because neither of them are truly prepared. But Atsumu can’t find it in himself to care, making a distressed noise while still twisting his head to try and make it into an actual kiss. As soon as their mouths line up properly, Atsumu parts his lips and Sakusa is there, his tongue skating past Atsumu’s lips and pulling a groan from him before he can stop himself.

Sakusa releases his wrists to grab at his hips instead, long fingers sliding past the edge of his t-shirt to dig into the meat of his waist, tugging him closer. Atsumu’s hands rocket up, digging into Sakusa’s hair and- it’s coarser than he expected it to be. It’s thick and tangled in on itself in messy ringlets, so easy to grab onto. He arches closer to him thoughtlessly, not even embarrassed that getting closer means he has to stretch onto his tiptoes to close the gap between them.

Sakusa hands reel him in immediately, and he presses close, their bodies lining up just right and _oh_. It’s like fireworks are going off behind his eyes, because their hips line up and they're pressed against each other and he isn’t the only one who’s hard. Atsumu has never been so grateful for his commitment to athletic wear, or less irritated by the lurid shade of Sakusa’s track pants, because the layers of flimsy cloth aren’t enough to hide how affected they both are at _all._

He moans thoughtlessly into the kiss, stretching his jaw a bit wider so Sakusa can press deeper. Sakusa kisses like nothing he’s ever imagined. Even when he’d dared to think of what kissing him might be like, he’d thought it would be light and fleeting and almost teasing but no- Sakusa kisses like he’s trying to devour him, warm tongue skating over his teeth and soft palate, rolling against his own in a heady press that makes Atsumu tremble.

Atsumu breaks away when his lungs start to burn, groaning when Sakusa’s teeth catch on his lower lip and pull it just a fraction too hard. “Fuck-” The resulting shiver is so strong his feet slip, socks gliding across the tile. He knocks his tailbone against the counter with a hiss. He manages to release Sakusa’s hair without yanking it, hands flying back to grab onto the rim of the sink.

Sakusa steps away and for a split second Atsumu panics and wonders if he’d managed to fuck it up with that stunning display of clumsiness- then Sakusa’s hands clench in his shirt, tugging him away from the counter to steer him out of the bathroom.

There aren’t beds, but there are two plush futons arranged on opposite sides of the room. Atsumu clocks Motoya’s jersey cast across the back of a chair before he’s pulled into another kiss. Sakusa’s shoulders curve down to meet him before Atsumu can lean up, the angle forcing him to bend back under the pressure. The kiss is brief, just a searing glide of spit-slick lips before Sakusa breaks away again.

“Is it okay if- we-” He gestures at the futon that must belong to him with an awkward jerk of his chin.

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, running his hands over the short hairs at the back of Sakusa’s neck, the only place he knows he can touch. “How do ya want me?”

Sakusa makes a low noise, hands clenching rhythmically where they’ve landed on his waist. “Lay down and I’ll- on top of you?” he says, and it’s the first time he’s sounded anywhere close to unsure.

Atsumu nods quickly, scraping his nails against his scalp before stumbling back, falling onto the futon gracelessly. He grabs the edge of his shirt, instinctively moving to rip it off before pausing. “Is this-” He lifts it a little, looking up at Sakusa desperately for an answer. From the floor, Sakusa seems to tower over him. It sends a thrill up his spine unexpectedly; he’s never messed around with someone his size before, much less someone a little _bigger_ than him, and an animal part of his brain he doesn’t even recognize begins chanting _big big big_ with something akin to euphoria.

Sakusa stares down at him for a long moment, just hovering, before leaning over to tug his own shirt over his head. Atsumu doesn’t move, mouth dropping open at the sudden reveal. For all the times they’ve trained together, Atsumu has never seen him without a shirt. Sakusa is always first in the showers, already clean and dressed by the time Atsumu waltzes in. And he knows, right, he knows that Sakusa is an athlete, one of the top high school athletes in Japan, sprinting towards a professional career but- that doesn’t prepare him for how fucking _ripped_ he is, nothing but tight, sleek muscle and broad shoulders.

“Fuck, Omi, what lab were ya made in?” he says, eyes raking over his chest. “I mean, Jesus, do ya ever take a day off?”

“Just shut up and take off your shirt.” Sakusa tosses his shirt to the side and drops to his knees at the end of the futon. There is a faint, smug curve to his lips that makes Atsumu’s breath catch as he scrambles to obey, flinging his shirt away. Sakusa shuffles closer and Atsumu spreads his legs automatically to make room, eyes flitting from his face, to his chest, down to the sharp cut of his hip bones, and how the jut of them suspends his track pants a bare centimeter away from his flat stomach, the faint trace of hair beneath his belly button leading down to-

Sakusa pushes him back with curled knuckles, not hard enough to actually make him fall, but Atsumu moves with the motion anyway. Sakusa shifts over him, bracing himself on his arms. He holds himself stiffly, body suspended a few careful inches over Atsumu.

“This is the weirdest hook-up I’ve ever had, ya know?”

“You make it sound like you have a lot of experience.” Sakusa blinks down at him slowly. One of his hands shifts to curl in Atsumu’s hair, touch light.

Atsumu smirks up at him. “Look at me and tell me ya don’t think I could have my pick, Omi.”

Sakusa arches a brow, the twin moles on his forehead lifting with the motion; Atsumu has the very embarrassing impulse to press his lips against them. Sakusa’s fingers curl tighter in his hair, and Atsumu barely resists the urge to whine, tipping his head back a bit to ease the sting.

“You want to go find someone else then?” he asks, voice completely level as if Atsumu leaving would have no effect on him whatsoever. Fucking _annoying._

“If ya don’t hurry up and _do_ somethin’-” This time when Sakusa tugs his hair, his mouth is already open, and his whine escapes before he can suppress it. That smirk is back and it’s annoying how attractive it is.

“If I had known that was all I needed to do to make you shut up…” Sakusa tips his head down, lips gliding up his throat.

“I fuckin’ hate ya, Omi,” Atsumu manages, hips jerking slightly at the combination of barely there lips and tight fingers.

Sakusa chooses that moment to drop his body down against him, rolling his hips in a slow, _delicious_ press that makes Atsumu’s mind go blissfully blank for a half-second. He arches up into it, making a frustrated noise when Omi lifts up again and out of his reach.

“Doesn’t feel like you hate me,” he says against his ear. “Feels like you like me just fine.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , yer a freak, Omi-Omi, never would have pegged ya for- _oh._ ” Atsumu shivers, hips giving another little jerk when Sakusa bites at the cartilage of his ear. “Oh, fuck-”

Sakusa soothes the sting with a slow drag of his tongue before leaning back a bit to look at Atsumu properly. “Miya, to be clear-”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me Miya while you’re touchin’ me like that,” Atsumu snaps, twisting against the sheets as much as he can under the cage of Sakusa’s body. “If you make me think about ‘Samu while we’re doin’ this, I’m gonna _hurl-_ ”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa interjects. Atsumu stops squirming, looking up at him properly. Sakusa stares down at him, cheeks a ruddy pink despite his unaffected expression. When he seems confident that Atsumu isn’t going to interrupt, he glances away briefly before continuing. “To be clear. I can’t- I won’t touch you. I can’t, like that. But-” He shifts, rolling his hips against Atsumu’s again. Atsumu sees the small crinkle between Sakusa’s brows at the pressure, and it makes a bizarre form of pride blossom in his chest.

“But we can do that,” Sakusa finishes lamely. He dips his head, expression hidden behind his fringe.

“Just a little dry humpin’? That’s fine, Omi-kun, I don’t mind.” He shifts, taking advantage of the fact that Sakusa hasn’t pulled away this time to roll their hips together again. He can feel the line of Sakusa’s cock against his. He hums appreciatively, eyes dropping closed.

“That’s as far as we go,” Sakusa murmurs, face still hidden. Atsumu realizes abruptly that this is Sakusa _nervous._ It must be part of the germ thing and the touch thing, that Sakusa isn’t willing to get totally naked and go any further. He wonders if other people have turned him away for it, if they couldn’t handle Sakusa’s odd quirks.

Atsumu can very much handle him.

He shifts, pressing his feet into the futon to get the leverage to roll their hips together again, head tipping so he can brush his lips against Sakusa’s ear, marvelling at how his shoulders curl forward in a shiver at the touch. “I like it,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even have to try to make himself sound alluring; a couple of frantic kisses and awkward grinding have already gotten him to a place where his voice is rough and breathy. _Embarrassing._

Sakusa makes a small noise and Atsumu can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but his hand curves around the back of Atsumu’s head, cradling it above the futon to keep him close. Atsumu rolls his hips up again, letting himself moan at the weak friction. “I like it,” he repeats, carding his fingers through Sakusa’s hair. “Makes me feel dirty. Like’m not good enough for ya.” He wishes desperately that he had permission to touch him more, to grab his hips and pull him down into the languid press of their bodies.

“Atsumu-”

“Fuck, yeah.” Atsumu nuzzles his nose lightly against his cheek, humming. “I like that, too.”

Atsumu feels Sakusa swallow, hears the dry click of his throat. One of Sakusa’s hands slides slowly down his side, all the way past his hip and to his thigh. He shifts, hitching Atsumu’s leg up around his hips before sinking down with a hard, controlled grind, and finally _there’s_ the friction he’s been looking for.

Atsumu takes the adjustment as permission to hook his legs around Sakusa, dragging him down into the cradle of his hips. Sakusa sinks closer, arms raising to brace himself over Atsumu again. He lowers his head, pressing firm kisses down the line of his throat as he builds up a careful rhythm with his hips.

Atsumu lets himself lay back and take it, the sudden sensation of skin-on-skin with their bare chests, tight pressure, and biting kisses along his throat enough to make him lose focus on anything other than the _feeling._ The way Sakusa is grinding their hips together is so reminiscent of fucking that it makes something in his brain melt. Atsumu has never _been_ fucked before, was usually all too happy to _do_ the fucking, and suddenly the thought of spreading himself out for Sakusa to fucking _take_ is so alluring he can barely _breathe._

“Fuck, fuck-” He arches up, stretching his throat to give Sakusa more access. Sakusa’s teeth sink into the delicate hollow of his throat and Atsumu _keens,_ a shudder rocking his whole body. “Omi, yeah, yeah- did ya do it like you wanted to, did ya make me bleed-”

“Not yet,” Sakusa mutters, voice rough and faint. He bites down again, and the pain of it sends a rocket of pleasure _directly_ to Atsumu’s dick. He’s already throbbing, so achingly hard he doesn’t know what to do with himself, holding onto Sakusa’s hair for dear life.

“Oh, God- _fuck,_ Omi, how’d you learn how’da do it-” Atsumu whimpers at another sharp bite, shaking under him. He tugs at his hair, and Sakusa follows the pull, sweat damp forehead pressing into his. “Kiss me, fuck-”

Sakusa obliges, meeting his lips in a messy kiss. His hips are losing any rhythm, moving against Atsumu’s in anxious little circles. At least Atsumu isn’t the only one who’s close. Atsumu feels like he’s teetering on the edge, the friction just-not-quite enough to tip him over. He wishes he could shove a hand down his pants, certain that one touch would be all it would take-

But Sakusa wouldn’t like that. It might upset him, and despite spending ninety-nine percent of their time together doing everything in his power to piss Sakusa off, Atsumu very much wants this to be a _good_ experience for both of them.

Their kiss is barely a kiss. It’s mostly frantic tongues and panting and half-hearted nips, and even that is so much that Atsumu has to jerk away, smacking his head back against the pillow with a gasp. “Omi, Omi, Omi- ‘m close-” 

Has he ever been this turned on? When he was fifteen, getting his first handjob from his neighbor Chieko, he’d been too worried that he was somehow doing something wrong to focus on anything other than his embarrassment. When he had sex for the first time with Kumi from class 2-C, he’d been so focused on _looking_ good above her, that he’d barely been able to pay attention to what sliding into her had even _felt_ like. It feels a little like the first time he’d given a blow job, maybe, the same crawling heat scratching beneath his skin, but-

But he can’t even look at Sakusa without feeling like he’s going to explode. He’s been jealous of Sakusa since the day he met him, frustrated by his reticent personality, irritated by his nonreactions-

Oh, fuck. Does he actually have a _crush_ on _Sakusa Kiyoomi?_

Atsumu peels open his eyes to glance at Sakusa, who has turned his face into the crook of Atsumu’s throat, panting against his skin as he works their hips together relentlessly. “Oh, _fuck-_ ” He drops his arm across his face, pressing his eyes into the bend of his elbow, digging his teeth into his lower lip in an effort to just shut _up._ Shut his mouth, shut off his mind, just shut _up-_

Sakusa’s face turns against his neck, teeth grazing over his collarbone. Atsumu’s toes curl, one leg jerking straight against his will, falling away from Sakusa’s waist to press against the futon. He’s _close-_

Sakusa’s hand wraps around his wrist, jerking it away from his face to press into the pillows above his head instead. Atsumu keeps his eyes pinched shut, teeth digging so harshly into his lip he thinks it might bleed, every nerve ending in his body vibrating and too sensitive. He doesn’t see it, but he feels it as Sakusa tenderly licks his captured lip, making him release it with a gasp, a shiver jerking his whole body up in a sharp arch.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa says, and his voice is so rough it sounds like it hurts. “Open- your eyes.”

Atsumu shakes his head a little, panting. “Can’t- fuck, Omi, gonna-”

“Look at me-” Atsumu just shakes his head again, rolling his hips up against Sakusa’s thoughtlessly, chasing after his release in a way he _knows_ is disturbing the rhythm Sakusa had set.

“Please.”

Atsumu’s eyes snap open, looking up at him. Sakusa, whose pale face is mottled red, with a faint layer of perspiration at the line of his wild hair. Whose lips are pink, and maybe a little swollen, whose eyes are dark, dark, dark- and looking directly at him, clouded with arousal.

Atsumu lets out a noise he’s never heard himself make before, head twisting back against the pillows as he teeters over the edge. He feels it from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, every muscle in his body contracting so hard it’s almost painful. He arches away from the sheets, eyes forced closed again as he trembles through it, Sakusa’s hips continuing to grind against his until it feels like too much.

He jerks weakly at the hand Sakusa still has trapped, whining, mind a thousand miles away as he comes down. “Ow,” he mumbles, slowly forcing his eyes open again.

Sakusa stills immediately, mouth slightly open as he looks down at him. He releases Atsumu’s wrist, shifting his weight onto his elbow instead. Atsumu hadn’t even noticed Sakusa’s other hand where it had settled against his belly, long fingers stretched across the flat plane of his abs.

It takes a couple of slow blinks for his mind to clear, and another moment to realize that Sakusa is still riding the knife’s edge, body trembling above him, hips held still a bare inch away from Atsumu’s slowly relaxing body.

Atsumu lets out a breath and lifts his hands, sliding his fingers along Sakusa’s neck and into his hair. “You didn’t- can I-”

It’s Sakusa’s turn to close his eyes, head jerking slightly into his touch. “I can-”

“Let me-” Atsumu swallows thickly, sliding one hand slowly down Sakusa’s neck, stopping carefully at his chest. When Sakusa doesn’t protest he continues, grazing his fingers slowly down. He feels the twitch of Sakusa’s abs as he grazes past them, hand coming to a halt again at the edge of Sakusa’s pants.

“Don’t,” Sakusa grits out, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Won’t really touch ya, Omi,” he breathes, tipping his head up to brush his lips against his jaw. He trails his fingers along his waistband, a tiny aftershock shivering through him as he finds his target. He brushes his fingers delicately over the covered line of Sakusa’s cock, a thrill skating up his spine at the small damp patch in the fabric.

Sakusa releases a hard breath, hips twitching and stilling immediately. “Wait-”

“Is it okay? I’ll stop, if ya want me to.” He brushes his knuckles against him again, a barely there touch. “Ya made me feel so good, Omi, just wanna return the favor…” He stops, hand hovering close, but not touching. “You’re runnin’ the show, just tell me what to do.”

Sakusa turns his head into the hand Atsumu has moved to his cheek, letting out another harsh breath against his palm. “Touch me,” he hisses, brow furrowed.

Atsumu grins despite himself, and cups him firmly through his pants. “You can move, ya know.”

Sakusa growls- fucking _growls-_ and presses into Atsumu’s hand. The hand on Atsumu’s stomach moves to grip his waist instead, fingers digging into his flesh.

“That’s it, Omi-Omi,” he murmurs. He strokes him slowly, dragging his thumb over the head. He tips his head, pressing kisses up his jaw. He can feel Sakusa shivering over him, his hips jerking into his touch. He nuzzles his nose behind Sakusa’s ear as the other boy sinks closer to him. “Ya like it, right?”

Sakusa hums, dropping his head against Atsumu’s shoulder. Atsumu curls his hand into his hair, tugging it lightly. “Yeah, ‘s right.” He wraps his hand around him the best he can through the barrier of the cloth, stroking him fast and tight. “Come for me, yeah? Kiyoomi?” he whispers, another faint thrill running through him at the use of Sakusa’s full, given name.

That seems to do it. Sakusa’s body goes stiff above him, hips flexing in sporadic little jerks. He doesn’t make a sound, but Atsumu feels it as he comes, in the twitch of his cock and the sudden dampening of the cloth as Atsumu works him through it. He stops when Sakusa’s hips still and cant away from the touch, gliding his hand lightly up his chest to curl into his hair instead, holding him close. Sakusa’s body slowly relaxes, slumping fully against Atsumu as he comes down.

They lay like that together for maybe thirty seconds before Sakusa retracts his hands, batting Atsumu’s touch away as he rolls to the side, sprawling half on the futon and half on the floor. Atsumu decides it’s best not to mention that the floor is probably _filthy,_ letting Sakusa come down from the rush of endorphins in silence.

The silence stretches on long enough for Atsumu to notice the uncomfortable, tacky feeling of his underwear and the distinct ache in his neck and wrists. He makes a face, shifting awkwardly to pull the fabric away from his skin, and turns his head to look at Sakusa.

Sakusa is staring at the ceiling, the flush in his face almost entirely gone. If it wasn’t for the uneven movement of his chest as he catches his breath and the distinct dark stain on his stupid lime green joggers, it would have been impossible to tell that he’d spent the last twenty minutes humping Atsumu stupid.

Atsumu snorts at the thought and Sakusa turns his head to look at him, eyebrows drawing together in mild irritation.

“Feel better?” Atsumu drawls, lips tilting into an easy grin.

“Not really,” Sakusa says. But he isn’t moving, body still spread out in a relaxed sprawl.

Atsumu snorts again, twisting onto his side. He props his cheek in a hand. “Liar.”

Sakusa clicks his tongue irritably, turning his head to look back at the ceiling. “Definitely worse.”

“Liar,” Atsumu reiterates. “You’re a winner now. Got a prize better than nationals.”

“Please tell me you aren’t talking about yourself.”

“‘Course I am.” Atsumu huffs a laugh.

“Arrogant.”

Atsumu watches him thoughtfully, letting them lapse into silence again. Atsumu certainly feels better than he has all day. With his hurt feelings pushed away, it’s easier to look past nationals; it might have been his last opportunity to compete with his brother and the rest of Inarizaki by his side, but it was hardly his last chance to play. He was already being courted by multiple division teams, set to go pro as soon as he graduated. Most of the fuckers who beat him today would never have the same opportunities that Atsumu would, so really, who was the winner?

“Hey, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa opens one eye, glancing over at him. “What.”

Atsumu shifts, tugging idly at his waistband. “Yer gonna go pro, right? After graduation?”

Sakusa turns his head properly to look at him, blinking slowly. “...no. I’m going to university.”

Atsumu’s elbow slips and he jerks upright quickly, shifting to cross his legs and face him completely. “No way! What’re you going to university for?”

Sakusa sighs and pushes himself up on his elbows. “Physics-”

“That’s not what I’m talkin’ about!” Atsumu waves a hand. “I meant _why?_ You’re not gonna keep playin’?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, pushing himself fully upright. “I’m going to play in the university circuit, Miya.”

“And then yer just gonna fuck off an’ be a scientist or somethin’?” Atsumu glowers. “What a waste-”

“No,” Sakusa interjects, mouth twisting down. “I’m going to finish university and _then_ I’ll try out for a division team.”

“Why are you wasting yer time like that?” Atsumu scoffs, dragging his fingers through his hair. It‘s knotted in the back- probably from all the writhing against Sakusa’s pillows he’d been doing.

Sakusa lets out a sharp puff of breath, blowing a frizzy ringlet away from his face. “My parents asked me to. I can still play and improve without going straight to a division team.”

“Still, you’re a fuckin’ ace. Half the national teams are probably beatin’ down your door-”

“Paying me a compliment, Miya?”

Atsumu’s jaw clicks shut. Sakusa has that smug look on his face again. “No, I’m just sayin’.”

“Sure.” He tilts his head, stretching his neck with a sigh. “You’re joining a division team, then?”

Atsumu nods, watching the muscles of his neck. “Yeah. Not sure what team yet.”

“Your brother too?” Sakusa shifts, twisting at the waist in another careful stretch.

“Nah, ‘Samu isn’t into it like that.” He drops his hands to his lap, picking at the hem of his pants. He and Osamu had worked it out - well, they’d fought it over - but he still isn’t particularly happy that Osamu is giving up on volleyball. “He wants to work for a while. Got a job at a restaurant back home.”

“Hm.” Sakusa’s phone chimes before he can say more, and he leans carefully past Atsumu to grab it from where it had fallen on the sheets. “Komori is coming back,” he says after a moment. “They apparently did a few rounds of karaoke after dinner.”

“Fuck, I missed karoake?” Atsumu wrinkles his nose, rocking back with a sigh. “That woulda been fun.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Sakusa says blandly. “Now get out.”

Atsumu huffs a laugh and sits forward, leaning towards him. “Just teasin’.”

Sakusa doesn’t move, staring at him. He looks thoroughly unimpressed. “Get out. I need to take a bath.”

“Alright, alright.” He flashes a grin, leaning forward a bit more. “Gimme a goodnight kiss and I’ll go-”

Sakusa claps a hand against his cheek, shoving him away before standing. He scoops up Atsumu’s shirt between the tips of two fingers, tossing it in his direction. “Out,” he repeats.

Atsumu tugs it on with a laugh and stands, stretching towards the ceiling. “I’m goin’.” He brushes past him, careful not to actually touch him. Sakusa follows him to the door, reaching around him to tug it open as Atsumu stuffs his feet back into his shoes. “Night, Omi-kun~” He flashes him a grin, stepping backwards through the door.

“Goodnight, Miya.”

“Ya know, you could still call me At-”

Sakusa closes the door firmly in his face.

\---

Atsumu manages to take a quick shower before the rest of the third years return to their shared room. He’s sitting on his futon when they make it back, rubbing his hair dry with a towel as he scrolls through twitter. The door slams open, the other third years stomping in and kicking off their shoes at the door.

“Oi, thought you were sleepin’,” Osamu greets. He crouches down at the end of his futon by his bag, flipping it open to search for his sleep clothes.

“Changed my mind~” He glances up, arching a brow. “Why’d ya come in here so loud if you thought I was sleepin’?”

“Wanted to wake ya up,” Osamu says nonchalantly.

“Bastard-”

“What happened to your neck?” Suna interrupts. He’s standing beside his futon, holding his sleep shirt, narrow eyes squinted suspiciously. “You get mauled by a bear?”

Osamu immediately zeroes in on his neck, and Atsumu slaps a hand over the worst of them, the dark, angry marks in the soft hollow of his throat where Sakusa had bitten _hard-_

“You should see the other guy,” Atsumu says, leering at Suna. The other guy, who Atsumu had absolutely not succeeded in leaving a single mark on, because he’d been too busy getting fucking ravished-

“How much ya pay him?” Osamu tugs his shirt off. “Couldn’ta found someone actually willing to touch ya.”

“I don’t think Omi-kun has a price.” Atsumu sniffs, lifting his nose imperiously.

There is a drawn out silence before Suna, Osamu, _and_ Gin and Kosaku dissolve into laughter.

“Sakusa!” Osamu barks, holding his stomach with both hands in a rare display of loud derision. Suna is literally pointing at Atsumu with one hand, the other delicately curling over his mouth to hide his snickers. “Yer tellin’ me _Sakusa Kiyoomi_ let ya _touch ‘im?”_

Atsumu huffs, crossing his arms. He’d known ahead of time that they wouldn’t believe him- which was kind of the point. Make it into a joke, and no one would be suspicious and actually _believe_ that he’d spent his night getting ravaged by Sakusa. “Laugh all ya want!”

“Oh, fuck, we will-” Osamu dissolves into another fit of laughter, and Atsumu flops back against his futon in a fake sulk. He rolls to put his back to the rest of the boys as they settle in for bed, playfully mocking Atsumu’s “lie” and developing a list of people Sakusa Kiyoomi was far more likely to allow into his personal space than Atsumu.

No one asks another question about where he’d been. When the lights are off and everyone else has settled in to sleep, Atsumu presses his thumb against the most tender mark on his throat, sighing at the phantom pain.

\---

They watch the finals the next day; in the second round of hell day, both Fukorodani and Nekoma had been knocked out, leaving Kamomedai to face off against Karasuno in the last match of nationals.

Inarizaki’s general mood has lifted overnight. Atsumu spent the morning trying to remember why he’d been so pissed the day before, but couldn’t quite remember. Instead he spent the morning harassing Osamu, which had been enough fun to put him back in his usual mood.

They’re looking for seats when they pass Itachiyama. Komori and Sakusa are heading up the group. Sakusa’s shoulders are curved forward, head tucked down; the crowds around them are too thick, Atsumu assumes, for Sakusa to be comfortable.

“Miya-san!” Komori waves, drawing their group to a halt. Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna stop too, the rest of their team pausing behind them.

“Hey,” Atsumu says with a grin, at the same time Osamu lifts a hand in mild greeting; but Komori’s eyes are on Atsumu, eyes squinted shut in a happy grin.

“I heard you’re trying for a division team after graduation, right?” He points at himself. “Me too!”

“Oh?” Atsumu tucks his hands into his pockets, tipping his head to the side enough to reveal the dark, angry marks on his neck that had set in overnight. “That so?”

“Yeah.” He grins, thumbs hooking into the straps of his backpack. “Maybe we’ll end up on the same team.”

“We’ll see.” He cuts his eyes towards Sakusa, who looks grim as usual, his brows furrowed. “You guys staying for the match?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna go watch from the floor though.” Komori flashs him a thumbs up. “See you around, Miya-san!”

“See ya, Komori-kun.” He cuts his eyes in Sakusa’s direction one last time, tongue sliding across his lips before he guides the rest of his team past them. Sakusa’s expression barely changes, but Atsumu optimistically thinks that maybe there was a flicker of the same heat he’d seen the night before in Sakusa’s eyes.

When they make it past the other team, Osamu slings an arm across his shoulders, smirk curling his lips. “Awful cold treatment from yer lover there, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu doesn’t feel bad about the elbow he digs into his brother’s ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i know inarizaki won in atsumu's third year... now. i did not know that when i started writing this fic in october so- oops!! canon divergence!!
> 
> the full fic is finished and will be updated as quickly as i can edit each chapter. most likely will be fully published in the next week!! this is my first haikyuu fic and i have toiled away at it for months (resulting in 55k and also 60k+ of content that got shoved to the side to re-examine later YIKES) so i hope you enjoy it!! 
> 
> hit me up on tumblr [here](https://noodletastic.tumblr.com) or on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/noodletastix).


	2. Chapter 2

Atsumu can’t stop thinking about Sakusa for the next few weeks. He thinks of him when he sets a ball, imagining the whip-crack motion of his bizarre wrists. He remembers the delicate tremble of his hands as they touched his face, so faint he isn’t sure if he had imagined it. He can feel the phantom of messy kisses while he touches himself in the shower, trembling over the edge with his mouth in the shape of Sakusa’s name, never daring to say it aloud. He looks at Sakusa’s Facebook profile more times than he can count, hovering his mouse over the _friend_ button but never actually clicking it.

The thoughts fade, eventually, replaced by worry over his impending graduation and anxious training for the V League tryouts already scheduled for his summer. Sakusa fades into a footnote, only entering Atsumu’s mind on desperate nights when he’s too drained from hours of conditioning and school to think of anything else when he gets off before bed.

Sakusa disappears completely within a week of graduation, his entire focus shifting to _volleyball._ He tries out for several teams within the span of a month. Suna gets signed before him, earning a place on EJP Raijin; Atsumu hadn’t even tried for that team, well aware that their setter was good enough that Atsumu would be second string and likely never get court time.

He doesn’t feel great about his performance at the Jackals tryout. He overthinks every move, biffs one of his serves, and runs his mouth enough that he’s sure the coach and captain can’t stand him. It’s the one he wants the most - close enough to home for him to visit on his off days, with a setter near enough to retirement that Atsumu might actually get some play in his first year - and it makes his nerves run wild. He’s never cared if a team likes him before, and the overwhelming _notice me like me notice me_ that pervades his mind for the entire weekend of his tryout makes him nauseous.

But he gets a call to come in to sign his contract the Tuesday after the last round, and within a week, everything he owns is crammed in two suitcases and he’s on a train to Osaka with swollen eyes.

( _“Ya look stupid when ya cry,” Osamu had said, the tears on his own cheeks shining in the fluorescent lights of the train station._

_“How do ya think you look, then?” Atsumu scrapped out, voice thick and cheeks stinging in the early morning air._

_“Not as stupid as you,” Osamu said, before hugging him tight enough to make his ribs hurt. “Yer just movin’ to Osaka, yer not even that far.”_

_“Yer gonna miss me anyway,” Atsumu said, and used the hug as an excuse to sob on his brother’s shoulder until the train arrived._ )

Osaka is lonely. He’d known he would miss Osamu and his mother and all their friends, but he hadn’t expected it to leave him feeling hollow and sore. His new team is nice, but the majority of the members are a good bit older than him. The closest in age to him are Inunaki, the libero, and Meian Shugo, who he realizes within two practices is going to be the next captain, as soon as the older lineup moves on.

And then, of course, is Bokuto, who seems to have grown twice as broad and half as insane since Atsumu had last seen him. Like him, Bokuto is a second string player. As someone with notoriously violent mood swings, Atsumu had expected him to be in a constant huff about not being able to play, but surprisingly, he just seems happy to be there. Even more shockingly, he seems excited to be around _Atsumu._

In no universe had he expected to have Bokuto Koutarou as his new best friend, but within a month Bokuto has become _Bokkun_ , Atsumu has become _Tsum-Tsum_ , and they’re living in each other’s pockets like they’ve never been anywhere else. Weight training? Doing it with Bokuto. Post-practice meals? Bokuto (and sometimes Inunaki and Meian). Exploring Osaka on off days? Bokuto. Dragging two love seats graciously donated by his mother up three flights of stairs to his team-provided apartment? Bokuto.

It helps, having company. The pit in his stomach is less demanding. Practice helps, too, because for the first time Atsumu is surrounded by players who are taking the game just as seriously as him. He’s learning and he can tell that his body is stronger with each passing week.

It’s only in his very, very weakest moments, on weekends where he doesn’t have the energy to go home, and Bokuto is off in Tokyo to visit Akaashi Keiji (his fucking _boyfriend_ , which is weird as shit), that Atsumu’s mind wanders places it shouldn’t. Like to the tender squeeze of Kita’s hand on graduation day, or the black void of Sakusa’s eyes hovering over him.

He dates a little, after he settles in. He sets up a profile on Tinder and Grindr and hooks up with a very pretty girl who claims to be an “influencer” (she’s terrible in bed, but Atsumu’s polite enough to pretend that she’s not) and a couple of random men who are fine. It never turns into anything more than a hookup. Atsumu’s too busy to commit to anything beyond a night or two a month, and it turns out there aren’t a lot of people who like someone so “emotionally absent.”

So Atsumu thinks of Kita’s kindness and Sakusa’s acid and even of Chieko-from-next-door and saves all his love and devotion for volleyball.

\---

They’re in Tokyo playing their fourth game of the season when Coach Foster calls Atsumu over to the bench.

“Are you warmed up?” he asks, and his eyes are glowing. It’s the third set of a five set match, and the Jackals haven’t lost a set yet. Bokuto was put in midway through the second set, and is displaying the same beautiful, relentless energy as he had in high school. They should have the whole match clenched in this set.

Atsumu blinks, taking a seat beside Foster. “Yeah, I am. Why wouldn’t I-” He cuts himself off before he can finish the question and humiliatingly, tears build in his eyes. “Am I playing?” he asks, voice croaking awkwardly.

Foster just grins. “Gotta do it sometime, don’t you?”

“Can ya text my brother?” Atsumu asks, scrubbing his hands across his eyes.

“Sure thing, kid.”

Atsumu steps onto the court for the first time in his professional career five minutes later, and smirks across the net at the opposing setter. “Good luck,” he says, but his tone says _watch how it’s done._

When he enters the court, their score is 7-6, Jackals in the lead. They win the set 25-20. Atsumu gets their final point with a beautiful dump, right over the heads of the opposing defense - a completely unnecessary move, since they’d been having no trouble getting spikes through, but Atsumu can’t resist. Meian and Bokuto rush him as soon as the whistle blows, lifting him into the air, and Atsumu thinks he could live in this moment forever.

He can’t, of course. They have to clear the court for the next game in the tournament, and Atsumu ends up cornered by a couple of reporters to talk about his “shocking debut.” He eats it up, simpering about how nervous he’d been (he wasn’t) and about how skilled the other team was (they weren’t) and grins when they bring up his final point, sheepishly claiming to have been _lost in the moment._ He knows he’s nailed it based on the indulgent smiles on the reporters faces, and the pleased smirk their PR rep shoots him when he turns to her for final approval before he joins the rest of the team to gather his things from the sidelines.

He’s zipping up his jacket when he notices a familiar, rumpled head of curls on the opposite side of the barcades. He freezes, staring. There, standing amongst what _must_ be his new collegiate team, is Sakusa Kiyoomi, resplendent in a bright red team jacket, his usual mask across his face. He’s standing slightly apart from his team, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and his shoulders curved forward.

Atsumu wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t already riding such a high. But he feels unstoppable, golden, and can’t resist the urge to break away from his team, leaning over the divider nearest Sakusa. He ignores the bewildered gaze of the rest of the team, pushing on his tiptoes to look directly at Sakusa, and grins as he calls, “Omi-kun~”

“Who?” the boy nearest him says, at the same time Sakusa says, “Miya.” The word comes out like he’s speaking around a mouthful of rocks, and Atsumu’s grin widens. He leans against the barrier, wiggling his fingers at him, beckoning.

“C’mon, Omi, aren’t ya gonna say hi?”

“Hi,” Sakusa says stiffly, unmoving. But his team is moving out of the way for him, and one of his teammates slaps a friendly hand on his shoulder to shove him forward. Atsumu bites back a laugh at the irate angle of his eyebrows.

When Sakusa reaches the front, Atsumu drops back to the soles of his feet, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Come to see me play, Omi?”

“Not intentionally.” Sakusa’s shoulders are still curled forward, and Atsumu can practically see the annoyance rolling off of him. All of his teammates are staring, and it must be grating.

“Then I guess yer just lucky ya got to see my unofficial debut.” Atsumu allows his grin to turn into a leer. “Want my autograph?”

“Not even if you paid me,” Sakusa says smoothly.

“Mean, Omi,” Atsumu pouts. “It could be worth a lot someday.”

“Doubtful. Was there something you wanted?” He cut his eyes to the side at a teammate who was scooting a little too close.

“Ya in town for a while?” Atsumu tipped his head.

“I live here, moron.” Sakusa’s eyebrow twitches and Atsumu feels a thrill zip up his spine.

“So ya will be around.” Atsumu eyes him once, as subtle as possible. “Wanna get a coffee?”

“You’re inviting me for a _coffee._ ”

Atsumu arches a brow. “Ya got a better idea for what we could do?” The eyebrow twitch has become a full, annoyed furrow, but Atsumu doesn’t miss the way Sakusa’s gaze snaps from his eyes to his mouth and back, and the excitement that pools in his stomach is liquid honey.

“We can get a coffee,” Sakusa relents, after a full fifteen seconds of terse silence.

“Aah, I feel so special,” Atsumu drawls, pulling a sharpie from his pocket.

“I don’t want your signature, Miya-”

“Here.” Atsumu passes the marker over and Sakusa takes it between two fingers with a scowl. Atsumu shoves his sleeve up and offers out his arm. “Gimme your number, so I can text ya.”

Sakusa stares at him for a long moment before uncapping the marker. His fingers are warm when he takes Atsumu’s wrist, head tipping down. “I’m going to regret this.”

“Nah, Omi. I don’t think ya will.”

\---

The team goes out for dinner as soon as the day’s events are over. Their first string setter, Sachihiro Ren, loops an arm around Atsumu and drags him to sit in the middle of the table and spends the first half of the meal praising him and teasing him over the day’s performance in equal measure.

“You’re sort of a show off during a game, aren’t you?” He asks, waving his drink in one hand. Atsumu likes him very much; he’s always cheerful, happy to teach Atsumu anything he’s curious about, and has a very adorable gap between his front teeth that shouldn’t be so charming on someone in their early thirties, but it is.

Atsumu is a better setter, but Ren is certainly a better person.

“I just get a little caught up, I reckon,” Atsumu says, smiling against the edge of his beer glass. Technically, he and Bokuto aren’t of age yet, but the captain had ordered them drinks with a sly wink anyway.

“You do not,” Ren laughs. “You do it on purpose. Admit it.”

“Fine, I do it on purpose.” Atsumu smiles wider, loose and definitely a little sleazy. It makes Ren, Meian, and Inunaki laugh, so Atsumu takes it as a win. “Usually gets under the other team’s skin if I’m a little shitty.”

“You like mind games, Miya?” Inunaki asks, pointing at him with a chopstick. “You playing mind games with us?”

Atsumu widens his eyes with faux sweetness. “I would never, Inunaki-senpai.”

Inunaki snorts, flicking a piece of errant rice in his direction. “Brat.”

The rest of dinner goes by in a cheerful haze. Two beers is enough to make Atsumu feel loose and happy, still riding a high off of his unofficial debut. He’ll have a real debut at a home game, where he’ll be allowed to play for a whole match, and just the thought is enough to make him shiver. Osamu will be there, and their mother, and any of his old team from Inarizaki that he can convince to come. The spotlight will be all on him. It makes him _hungry._

They’re waiting for their check when Atsumu’s phone buzzes on the table.

**21:05, Omi-kun**   
_Miya._

Atsumu grins at his phone and sits up a little, abandoning his third, almost empty beer to reply. He’d texted Sakusa as soon as he’d gotten his phone from his locker, and had honestly not expected a reply.

**21:06, Miya Atsumu**   
_omi-kun~_

**21:06, Miya Atsumu**   
_thought u gave me a fake number!!!_

**21:08, Omi-kun**   
_Damn it._

**21:08, Omi-kun**   
_Should have thought of that._

**21:09, Miya Atsumu**   
_too stunned by my beauty to think straight, huh?_

**21:09, Omi-kun**   
_I will block you._

**21:09, Miya Atsumu**   
_noooo_

**21:09, Miya Atsumu**   
_don’t be that way, omi!!!!!!!_

**21:10, Omi-kun**   
_You’re worse over text. How is that possible?_

**21:10, Miya Atsumu**   
_i’m a man of many talents ;)_

**21:11, Omi-kun**   
_Name one._

**21:12, Miya Atsumu**   
_ur a bully_

**21:12, Miya Atsumu**   
_u still wanna get coffee?_

**21:14, Omi-kun**   
_It’s almost ten o’clock._

**21:15, Miya Atsumu**   
_what, past ur bedtime?_

**21:15, Miya Atsumu**   
_we leave tomorrow morning so like….._

**21:16, Miya Atsumu**   
_now or never_

It takes so long for Sakusa to respond that Atsumu thinks he’s picked _never_. They’ve already left the restaurant and are waiting on the train back to their hotel when a new message comes through.

**21:36, Omi-kun**   
_Fine._

**21:36, Omi-kun**   
_> >Sakusa Kiyoomi has shared his location_

Atsumu grins and opens up his maps; Sakusa is only a few blocks away, apparently at a coffee shop called _The Burnt Bean._ It’s not an encouraging name, but Atsumu doesn’t really give a shit about the coffee.

“Oi, Bokkun.” Atsumu grabs onto Bokuto’s sleeve, giving it a tug. “I’ll see ya back at the hotel, all right?”

“Eh?” Bokuto tips his head, brows furrowing. “Where are you going?”

Atsumu wiggles his phone, flashing him a grin. “Gonna go meet a friend.”

“We check out at nine,” Meian says, glancing at him over Bokuto’s shoulder. “If you miss us, you can pay for a train ticket back.”

“I won’t miss ya.” Atsumu waves a hand, walking backwards from the platform. “See ya in the morning!”

“Wear a condom!” Inunaki calls, earning a chorus of jeers from the rest of the team. Atsumu flips him off over his shoulder, already jogging up the stairs to get back to the street.

**21:38, Miya Atsumu**   
_otw~_

\---

Atsumu has never seen Sakusa in anything other than athletic wear, so when he sees him waiting outside of the cafe in a pair of black skinny jeans, a pale blue sweater, and a _very_ expensive leather jacket, he almost trips over his own feet and has to swallow twice to clear the saliva from his mouth. He drags his fingers through his hair, glancing in a shop window to make sure he doesn’t look too stupid, before raising a hand to his mouth to call, “Omi!”

Sakusa looks up from his cellphone. He still has a mask on, because of course he does, so in the half-light of the street lamps, Atsumu can’t make out his expression. But he does tuck his phone into his pocket, so that seems like a good sign.

Sakusa waits until Atsumu is close enough that he won’t have to shout to speak. “Miya,” he greets.

“Didn’t think ya’d actually meet me.”

Sakusa mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, “That makes two of us,” before turning to walk into the shop. Atsumu has to dodge the door to follow him.

The barista behind the counter looks actively annoyed that they’ve dared to come in fifteen minutes before close, and asks their order in a curt tone. Sakusa orders a small black coffee and tips generously enough that the barista’s demeanor has softened when Atsumu steps up to order a caramel latte, iced, with extra whip. He tries not to smirk at the irritated twitch of the barista’s mouth at his order, and passes over his money with a sugary smile. He winks at her while dropping a handful of change into her jar before joining Sakusa at the end of the bar to wait for his drink.

“I come here every morning,” Sakusa murmurs. “Don’t embarrass me.”

“Yer college near here?” Atsumu looks up at him, and realizes abruptly that he has to look up a little further than before. In the handful of months since he’s seen Sakusa, he’s sprouted at least another inch. Atsumu tries and fails to not be viciously jealous.

Sakusa nods, eyes tracking the barista behind the bar as she makes Atsumu’s drink with clear care not to disturb her already clean work station. When he doesn’t offer anything else, Atsumu asks, “Do ya like it?”

Sakusa’s eyes turn back to him and Atsumu’s stomach flips with nervous energy. “It’s fine,” he says after a moment. “Annoying.”

Atsumu snorts out a laugh. “Why?”

Sakusa shrugs and steps up to collect their drinks when the barista drops them on the counter. “Thank you,” he says, bowing his head slightly. He shoves Atsumu’s coffee into his hand as soon as he’s turned back around and nods towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Sakusa removes his mask once they’re back on the street, folding it carefully before tucking it into his pocket. He takes a delicate sip of coffee, mouth twisting down briefly, and sets off down the sidewalk without a word. Atsumu follows him automatically, taking a sip of his own drink.

“I told ya it was a waste of yer time.”

“I knew it would be.” Sakusa takes another sip, eyes focused on the street ahead of them.

“Why were ya at the game today anyway?” Atsumu asks after a few moments of silence, glancing over from the corner of his eye. The streetlights tinge Sakusa’s fair skin orange, and his eyelashes cast long shadows across his cheek bones. Atsumu had almost forgotten how unfairly attractive he is.

“It was a _bonding experience,_ ” Sakusa says, with the level of disdain one would usually reserve for natural disasters.

Atsumu barks a laugh. “Yer team’s not used to ya yet, huh? I saw ‘em touch ya.”

“They seem to find some perverse joy in pushing my limits. I’m very close to losing my patience.”

“Didn’t know ya even had any of that,” Atsumu muses. Their path has carried them from the street into an expansive courtyard set between high, modern buildings. Atsumu clocks a sign marked _humanities_ and assumes they’re somewhere on Sakusa’s campus.

“How else would I be able to stand you?” Sakusa tosses back, glancing over at him. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face, and it makes Atsumu’s heart beat a little faster. He looks away and adds, “We were supposed to use it as an opportunity to learn from professionals.”

“Oh?” Atsumu leans to the side in an attempt to catch his eye, flashing him a grin. “Go on, then. What did ya learn from me?”

“Your team doesn’t trust you,” Sakusa says curtly. “Bokuto is the only one who didn’t hesitate to follow your sets. That’s why his attacks were the most successful.”

Atsumu opens his mouth to argue, then pauses. Sakusa isn’t wrong, Atsumu had felt the undercurrent of tension from the rest of his team, it just hadn’t felt important at the time. They’d won, after all, and Atsumu had no doubt that his sets had been fantastic.

“It was my first time really playin’ with them,” Atsumu defends, glancing anywhere but Sakusa. The silence that lingers is awkward, but Sakusa is the one to break it.

“They were sizing you up. That’s why they put you in when they still had two sets to recover if you gave in to your nerves. Clearly your team isn’t used to you either, if they thought you’d have any shame taking over the court.”

It wouldn’t have been praise from anyone else, but from Sakusa it’s practically a gold star. “Ya say the sweetest things,” Atsumu coos, relaxing again.

“Your libero is very talented,” Sakusa says, changing the subject.

“Yeah, Inunaki is great.”

They chat about the game and Atsumu rambles about Osaka and the team, and it’s not until the conversation sizzles out into a comfortable silence that Atsumu realizes how easy it is to talk to Sakusa. He doesn’t have a chance to examine the thought, because as soon as it forms, Sakusa draws to a stop at a set of wide glass doors, dropping his mostly full coffee into a trash can just outside.

“My dorm,” Sakusa says, nodding towards it. He slips his mask out of his pocket, hooking it around his ears again.

Atsumu had assumed as much. He takes a last, noisy slurp of his drink that’s now mostly ice before tossing it blindly into the trash can. “That my cue to get out of yer hair?” he asks. He plasters a lazy grin on his face, trying not to actually say the words trembling just behind his lips: _invite me in, invite me in, invite me in-_

“No.” Sakusa pulls his keys from his pocket. His back is to the light, and his expression is once again unreadable. “I thought you might come up.”

Heat explodes in his chest and he lets his grin relax into something a bit more flirtatious. “Ya tryin’ to get me in bed, Omi-kun?”

It’s not too dark to hide the roll of Sakusa’s eyes. “You’ve been trying to get me in bed all day, Miya.” He turns away, tapping his pass against the digital lock beside the doors. They open with a hiss, and Sakusa passes through them without a backwards glance. Atsumu hurries after him.

“Looks like it worked,” he gloats, tucking anxious hands into his pockets. Sakusa nudges the door to a stairwell open with his foot, and Atsumu catches it before it can swing closed, following him up the echoing stairs. 

“I’m bored,” Sakusa says, after a slightly too-long pause.

“Nah, that’s not it.” Atsumu grins at his back, eyes skating down to admire the curve of his ass in denim. It’s a nice ass. “You liked hookin’ up with me. You’ve been thinkin’ about it all day.”

“I think you’re projecting.” Sakusa stops at the third floor, nudging the door open again.

“Nah, Omi, I blew yer mind. You’ve been dyin’ to get me in bed again,” Atsumu brags. He leans against the wall beside Sakusa’s door as he unlocks it, grinning at him smugly.

“If I remember correctly,” Sakusa says, cutting his eyes at him. “I did most of the work. You just laid there and took it.”

Atsumu’s mouth goes slack, heat scorching his cheeks. “Hey-”

Sakusa’s mouth is still covered by his mask, but Atsumu can tell he’s smirking regardless. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Yer wrong.” Atsumu glares, even though he’s not.

“Omi, Omi, Omi,” Sakusa drawls, monotone, and pushes his door open. “I’m close, Omi, I _can’t-_ ” His voice goes high and mocking on the last word, cutting off sharply.

Atsumu can practically hear his pulse, a nauseating mix of embarrassment and arousal clogging up his brain. “Like you weren’t beggin’ me-”

“I don’t beg,” Sakusa says simply, and steps into his room. He keeps one finger hooked on the edge of the door, holding it until Atsumu steps inside. As soon as the door closes, Sakusa toes off his shoes and slides his feet into a pair of house slippers. Atsumu hesitates, then mimics him, nudging his shoes into line right beside Sakusa’s.

“Yeah, well, ya still let me jerk ya off,” Atsumu grumbles.

“Congratulations.” Sakusa shrugs off his coat, hanging it neatly by the door.

“Yer kinda mean about sex stuff, aren’t ya?”

Sakusa pulls off his mask, dropping it into a small trash can by the door, and shrugs. “Doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“I’m _bothered_ ,” Atsumu insists. It’s beginning to feel like this situation has gotten away from him.

“You’re horny. And you’re blushing.” Sakusa tugs his sweater over his head and tosses it into a hamper in the corner. He flips on the light and heads into the bathroom, untucking his undershirt as he goes.

“I’m not _blushin’!_ ”

“Okay,” Sakusa says. He cuts on the light in the bathroom, too, and goes directly to the sink

This has definitely gotten away from him, so the only thing to do is deflect. “This is real nice for a dorm room, Omi. How much ya payin’ for this?”

“It’s included in my scholarship.” He’s scrubbing his hands, rubbing the soap halfway up his forearms. “Having a private bathroom and a single room was part of my agreement when I signed to the team.”

Atsumu whistles, impressed, and steps away from the bathroom door to look around the room instead. It’s neat in an almost clinical way, not that he’d expected any different. The bed is made, dark blue comforter neatly tucked at all corners, two pillows stacked against the metal headboard. He has a small bookshelf, the books arranged by color rather than alphabetically. His desk is empty other than two textbooks with neon annotation stickers poking from the sides and a closed laptop. There’s a rack with his clothes tucked into the corner, and the clothes are also arranged in color order. Atsumu spots the bright green of his Itachiyama jacket before he hears the water cut off. 

When he turns back towards the bathroom, Sakusa is stepping out, rubbing his hands dry on a small towel. His eyes look different than they had a few minutes ago, and Atsumu recognizes the subtle heat of them, the way they draw him in like they have their own gravitational pull. Atsumu steps forward without thinking about it, stopping a foot away from him.

“Wash your hands, Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs. “If you’d like to touch me.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Atsumu whispers, and immediately steps around him to do as told. He bristles at the quiet chuckle behind him, but he’s already got soap in his hands and basically no way to retaliate. Just like last time, now that he knows the option to touch is explicitly on the table, every second he spends _not_ touching feels like time wasted. He glances back towards the room. Sakusa is leaning in the doorway, hands loosely curled at his sides.

“Hey, Omi?”

“Hm?”

Atsumu looks down at his sudsy hands. “Can I still only touch yer hair?”

The rush of the water is the only sound for an agonizing twenty-two seconds (he counts). Then, finally, Sakusa says, “Maybe not.”

Atsumu lets out an irritated huff, wincing as he rinses his hands beneath the hot water. “What’s that mean?”

“It means maybe you can touch me more.”

Atsumu turns off the water with his elbow, grabbing a hand towel from the stack Sakusa keeps by the sink because _of course he does._ He turns to glare at him, rubbing his skin dry. “Yer probably gonna need to gimme more than that, Omi-Omi-”

“I don’t know,” Sakusa interjects, tone sharp. “I don’t know what might bother me, so we’re going to have to _wing it._ ” It’s the same way he said _bonding experience_ , and the same way others might say _double homicide._

Atsumu tilts his head, slowly drying the space between his fingers. “Haven’t been testin’ out the moves on yer new co-eds?”

Sakusa’s glare is poisonous, the curl of his mouth lethal. “What do you _think_ , Miya?”

“Nah, don’t call me that again.” Atsumu waves a hand dismissively and glances around, tossing his used towel into the small hamper he’d known he’d find nearby; it’s tucked neatly beneath Sakusa’s vanity, half-full of identically rumpled towels. “I dunno what ya get up to, Omi. I never expected ya to fuck around with me, but.” He gestures between them. “Here we are.”

Sakusa clicks his tongue irritably and looks away. “Just stop if I tell you to, Atsumu. Same as last time.”

Atsumu watches him thoughtfully, leaning back against the counter. If Sakusa thinks it’s so obvious that he hasn’t been hooking up, then why _did_ he invite Atsumu to his room? He wants to press, he wants to poke at Sakusa until he explains himself, but he also very much wants to get laid, and he’s not sure he can have both.

So he pushes away from the counter and steps closer to him. He curls his fingers in the hem of Sakusa’s shirt, grinning at the annoyed twitch of his eyebrows, and at the fact that he isn’t trying to slap his hands away. “I got no doubt you’ll stop me if ya don’t like somethin’ I do, Omi,” he says, leaning closer. “I got no doubt you’ll pin me to yer bed and make me stop.”

It’s deeply satisfying to see the irritation fade from Sakusa’s eyes, and watch the immediate expansion of his pupils. It makes him feel a little bit like he’d felt that afternoon on the court as the final whistle blew.

“I’ve got no doubt that’s what you _want._ ” Sakusa’s hands fall to his hips anyway, thumbs slipping through the belt loops of Atsumu’s jeans.

Atsumu grins, walking his fingers slowly up Sakusa’s chest. “Maybe,” he agrees generously. “But I think it’s what you want too, Omi-kun~”

“Pillow princess,” Sakusa accuses, and it shocks a laugh out of Atsumu even as heat crawls up the back of his neck.

“That’s rude to call someone, ya know.” Atsumu slides his hands behind Sakusa’s neck, pushing up on his toes to eliminate some of the space between them.

“I meant it as an insult.” Sakusa’s head tips down, and Atsumu would call him on the way his eyes drift to his mouth, but he’s a little too busy staring at Sakusa’s mouth to notice.

“You like it,” Atsumu says. Then their mouths crash together and any thoughts fly out of Atsumu’s head.

Just like last time, Sakusa kisses like he’s trying to consume him, jerking Atsumu closer with his grip on his belt loops. Atsumu opens his mouth with a grateful groan and sinks his hands into Sakusa’s dark curls. Best to start somewhere comfortable for Sakusa, before he tries to get too adventurous. It’s not like he hasn’t wanted to get his hands in Sakusa’s hair again.

They kiss until they’re breathless, and when Sakusa breaks away, Atsumu leans in to pepper delicate kisses down his neck. Sakusa twitches once, like he wants to pull away, before settling. His hands slip beneath Atsumu’s t-shirt, touch light and exploratory. Atsumu hums against his skin, pressing a longer kiss to the hollow of his throat. Sakusa smells _good_ , like really good, like maybe he put on cologne before he met Atsumu for coffee, and it makes his head spin.

“Can we lay on yer bed, Omi?” he mumbles, sound muffled against his skin.

“Sure.”

Atsumu shifts up onto his toes to catch him in another kiss and grips the front of his shirt, pushing him slowly back across the dorm. He flops on the bed when they make it, separating from Sakusa for an agonizing moment before he manages to tug him down beside him. He winds his arms around Sakusa’s shoulders and guides him down onto the bed and into another kiss, their heads falling to rest on the pillows. Sakusa’s hands slide beneath the edge of his shirt, stroking broad paths along the expanse of his back. 

Atsumu has never felt so satisfied with just _kissing._ They haven’t even taken their clothes off and Atsumu doesn’t feel the need to rush into it. He tucks a leg between Sakusa’s, rocking against him gently. He hums his approval when Sakusa presses back, and gasps into the kiss when Sakusa’s hands tuck into his back pockets, squeezing his ass and urging him closer. 

He’s drunk on it, drunk on touch and the inexplicable power of being someone Sakusa Kiyoomi will allow to touch him. His brain feels fuzzy and scattered, latching onto abstract ideas and letting them go as soon as they start to take form. The only thing he can focus on is the languid sweep of Sakusa’s tongue over his, on the heat radiating from Sakusa’s chest, on the tangle of their legs and the lazy press of their hips.

He wants more of it. He wants to feel singular and useful and wants to hear the soft, restrained noises Sakusa makes when he’s about to come, wants to witness the barely-there tremble of his shoulders, wants to see Sakusa’s cheeks red and eyes clouded and know that he’s the one who did it.

He pulls out of the kiss, whimpering when Sakusa chases him and drags his teeth against his lip. “Hey, Omi?” he whispers, voice cracking.

“What?” Sakusa mumbles, eyes opening into irritated slits. 

His hands are still on Atsumu’s ass, and it’s making it kind of hard to think, which is his excuse for blurting, “Can I blow ya?”

Sakusa’s eyes open all the way, brows furrowing faintly. His hands trail up to settle against Atsumu’s lower back and it’s strangely endearing how his cheek looks squished against the pillow beside Atsumu. “I don’t know,” Sakusa says slowly, awareness leaking back into his eyes.

“Can I try?” Atsumu trails his hands down his chest, barely enough room between them to allow it. His hands stop over Sakusa’s belt buckle, and he gives it a light tug, rocking forward against him at the same time. “Ya know I’ll stop if ya don’t like it.”

Sakusa’s fingers tap against his spine one, two, three, four times before he exhales, swallowing tightly. Atsumu doesn’t like the tension that’s returning to his body, so he tilts his head forward to kiss him again. Sakusa hums and leans into it, hands clenching against his skin. 

Atsumu pulls away slowly, licking his swollen lips. Sakusa’s eyes track the motion and he lifts a hand, thumb pressing against the tender flesh of Atsumu’s bottom lip. Atsumu can’t really help the smile that sneaks out, and he relaxes his jaw for Sakusa without further prompting. Sakusa’s thumb presses against his bottom teeth lightly. Atsumu sweeps his tongue across the tip of his finger and closes his lips around it, sucking gently.

Sakusa’s hips jerk against his, and Atsumu feels a warm burst of pride. _Got ‘im._

He releases Sakusa’s thumb with a teasing graze of his teeth and tugs on his belt again. Sakusa rubs his thumb against his lower lip and lets out a shaky breath.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Just-”

“Stop if ya tell me to. I know.” Atsumu kisses his thumb again before pulling away entirely. He sheds his shirt, tossing it in the direction of Sakusa’s desk. “Lay on yer back, Omi. I’ll make ya feel real good.”

“I can’t believe this,” Sakusa mutters, more to himself than Atsumu, but Atsumu laughs regardless, scooting down the bed to kneel between his knees. Sakusa shifts, tossing his own t-shirt into the hamper. Atsumu’s laugh dies in his throat, strangled by the sight of Sakusa’s pale torso. He’d kind of forgotten, again, that he’s not the only one here who spends countless hours a week perfecting his body. And Sakusa might be as close to perfect as Atsumu’s ever seen.

He needs to say something, not just stare at Sakusa like an idiot, so he croaks out, “I’ll never tell a soul, Omi-Omi. Promise.” He’s trying to make a joke, but it comes out embarrassingly earnest. He tucks his chin down to hide his sudden blush. He settles his hands on his Sakusa’s belt buckle, glancing up for permission. Sakusa nods tersely, arms held awkwardly at his sides. He kind of looks like he’s being led to the gallows, and Atsumu has to swallow another laugh. He looks down to focus on loosening Sakusa’s belt. He flips open the button of his jeans, and ignores the anxious tremble of his own hands.

“No one’s ever blown ya, Omi?” he asks. He pulls down the zipper of his jeans slowly. The small twitch of Sakusa’s hips at the barely-there touch makes his breath catch.

“No.” When Atsumu glances up, the expression on Sakusa’s face dares him to make a joke about it. Atsumu swallows back any teasing, far too close to his end goal to get his access revoked.

“You’ll like it,” Atsumu says confidently. He hooks his fingers into the edge of Sakusa’s jeans and briefs, looking up through his eye lashes. “Can I, Omi?”

Sakusa exhales through his nose shortly, and nods. Atsumu eases them down slowly, just enough to free him. He has a feeling that full nudity would be a little too overwhelming for Sakusa at the moment, so he won’t-

His mind goes blank, saliva flooding his mouth. Sakusa is so hard he’s already leaking, just a little, the head of his cock flushed a pretty pink. His pubic hair is as dark as his curls, neatly trimmed but still present and something about it makes Atsumu’s thoughts sluggish. He reaches down to press the heel of his hand against himself through his jeans, letting out a sharp breath.

“ _Omi._ ”

“Don’t make it weird-”

“Not makin’ it weird. You just got a _real_ pretty cock.” Atsumu swallows, shaking his head again to try and clear the fog. He needs to focus, needs to make it good, and pay attention in case Sakusa gets uncomfortable.

“Cocks aren’t _pretty_ ,” Sakusa says derisively, and Atsumu doesn’t have to look up to know he’s scowling.

“Don’t know what to tell ya.” Atsumu tilts his head down, pressing a light kiss to the peak of Sakusa’s hip, breathing in. “You can touch me too. My hair or shoulders or whatever ya want.” He presses another kiss on his lower abs, and barely holds back a laugh at the flutter of his muscles. “Okay?”

“That’s- that’s fine,” Sakusa grinds out. His fingers are curled into the comforter, knuckles white.

“Hey.” Atsumu tips his head up, shaking his bangs out of his face. “Ya sure this is okay?”

Sakusa takes a deep breath, chest expanding and sticking, before he exhales, eyes closing for a moment. “It’s fine, Atsumu,” he says finally, looking down at him again. “Just- overwhelming.”

“Yeah.” Atsumu shifts forward, laying his hands over Sakusa’s tense fists. He wiggles his thumb between his fingers, prying them open with mild resistance from Sakusa, then guides one of his hands to the back of his head. Sakusa’s fingers curl into his hair immediately, and he has to suppress a shudder, keeping his eyes focused on Sakusa. “I’m gonna start slow. Jus’ tug me if I do something ya don’t like. I know ya like yankin’ on my hair anyhow.”

“You like yanking on _my_ hair.”

“See? We got somethin’ in common after all.” Atsumu flashes him a grin, and finally directs his attention to the mission at hand. He doesn’t hesitate to dip down, licking the little pearl of precum from the tip delicately. It’s salty and Atsumu feels his dick twitch against his zipper at the same time Sakusa’s hand clenches deeper into his hair, his abs going tense.

“Breath, Omi,” he mumbles, before licking a slow line from the base to the tip. He moves one hand to carefully wrap two fingers around the base to make it a bit easier to control, laving his tongue back down slowly. A breath punches out of Sakusa so abruptly it sounds like it fucking _hurts_ and Atsumu hums soothingly, which could be a mistake because the vibration makes Sakusa’s hips twitch, the head of his cock sliding against Atsumu’s cheek.

“Fuck-”

“‘S okay.” Atsumu nuzzles against the base of his cock, cheek rubbing against him. “All good.” He licks back up slowly, glancing up at Sakusa to gauge his reaction. His eyes are closed and he’s shoulders are locked in a tense line, but his breathing is ragged and his cheeks are pink. So Atsumu dares to go a little further, wrapping his lips around the head, tongue cradling it delicately.

The hand in his hair tightens, and Sakusa’s eyes snap open. Atsumu blinks at him slowly and sucks once. Sakusa lets out a shuddering breath, throat working around a tight swallow, but he doesn’t look away. Atsumu sinks down slowly, slower than he would ever usually go, and tries not to get distracted by the feeling. He wants this to be good for Sakusa. _He_ wants to be good for Sakusa, and if he treats this like any old blow job, that probably won’t happen.

He doesn’t bottom out. He can’t, because he hasn’t done this _that_ many times, and the slow stretch is making his jaw ache just a bit. But he reaches his fingers where they’re still wrapped around the base of him, and carefully swallows, ignoring the sizzle of electricity that rips up his spine.

Sakusa makes a choked sound, hips twitching slightly, and Atsumu makes a muted noise, pressing a hand against his thigh to keep him still. He pulls back up slowly, pressing his tongue against him in a luxurious drag. Sakusa’s shoulders are shaking, just barely, and his jaw is clenched tight, lips a flat line. Atsumu pops off with one last gentle suck at the head, taking a deep breath.

“Omi-”

“It’s good,” Sakusa interrupts, voice slightly strained. “That’s- it’s fine, Atsumu.”

Atsumu arches a brow, wiping errant spit from the corner of his mouth. “It’s _fine?_ ”

“Passable,” Sakusa snaps, but his cheeks are pinker than Atsumu has ever seen them, and it’s _delightful._

“Should I stop, then? Since it’s just _passable_ -”

“You look better with your mouth full,” Sakusa says, and Atsumu’s eyes widen against his will, stunned.

“Where the fuck did ya even _learn_ to say shit like that-”

“Did you want to blow me or did you want to talk?”

“Oh my _God._ ” Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Yer so fuckin’ entitled-”

“ _Atsumu._ ”

“ _Okay._ ” Atsumu glares, deeply irritated that this _bickering_ is somehow not turning him off. “I’m gonna _actually_ blow ya now, since my mouth bein’ on ya is _agreeable_ or whatever. Jus’ try and keep still, I don’t wanna gag.”

The look Sakusa gives him says that he sort of doubts that. Atsumu strokes him once, firm and tight, in retaliation, and Sakusa hisses a breath through his teeth that’s half annoyed, half pleased.

“I fuckin’ hate ya,” Atsumu says, and then takes him into his mouth again. He keeps his eyes on Sakusa at first, bobbing his head and changing the curl of his tongue to see what elicits the best reaction. Shockingly enough, Sakusa seems to like it _sloppy._ The more saliva involved, the more his shoulders relax, quiet exhales that are almost moans slipping out each time Atsumu pauses with him deep to swallow around him. He does as Atsumu asked, keeping his hips as still as possible.

When the last of the tension in Sakusa’s body has drained away, Atsumu lets himself enjoy it. The ache in his jaw sends a shiver down his spine and he closes his eyes to bask in it. The repetitive press against the back of his throat has brought tears to his eyes despite his best efforts, and he revels in it, a moan sneaking out.

It’s the dichotomy that Atsumu loves. Whenever he blows someone, he feels simultaneously like he has _all_ of the power and _none_ of the power. It’s an activity expressly meant for someone else’s pleasure, but it never fails to drive him _insane._ And, like everything else he’s ever done, it’s somehow better with Sakusa. Maybe it’s because he knows that no one else has ever done it before, maybe it’s because his fundamental goal in every interaction with Sakusa is to earn a reaction, maybe it’s just because Sakusa’s so fucking hot it actually pisses him off. But it’s _better._ And he wants more.

He looks up at Sakusa through his lashes and catches him already looking. A pleased tingle of heat tickles down his spine, and he glides back up slowly. He reaches up, putting his hand over Sakusa’s in his hair, and presses, loosening his jaw and sinking down under the pressure.

It earns him his first real moan of the night, Sakusa’s fingers putting enough tension on his hair to hurt. “ _Atsumu-_ ”

Atsumu draws back up and pops off, dragging his hand across his wet chin. “‘M all warmed up, Omi,” he says, and he’s almost shocked at how rough his own voice is. “So you can take over now.”

Sakusa’s hips twitch away from the mattress, just a hair, and Atsumu lets out a hoarse laugh, stroking him loosely. “Yeah, ‘s what I thought.”

“Atsumu I don’t-” Sakusa cuts himself off, dragging his fingers through Atsumu’s hair in a gesture that’s a little too awkward to actually be affectionate, but weirdly sweet all the same. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he finishes, and that would be sweet, too, if not for the scowl on his face.

“Yer goin’ soft on me, Omi,” Atsumu chastises. He strokes him again, and crooks a brow. “Well, maybe not _soft_ -”

“Shut- _hn-_ up,” Sakusa snaps.

“You shut up ‘n fuck my mouth, you fuckin’ baby.” Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him, twisting his wrist at the top of his next stroke. Sakusa’s muscles jump, shoulders lifting away from the mattress with a hiss of breath.

“Open your _fucking mouth_ then.”

Atsumu flashes him a grin. “Jus’ stop if I choke too hard.”

“Shut _up._ ” 

Atsumu huffs a laugh and lowers his head, wrapping his lips around him again. He covers Sakusa’s hand with his again, pushing himself down slowly, then squeezes Sakusa’s hand to drag himself back up. He lets go after a few assisted slides and loosens his jaw, glancing up at Sakusa. He hopes the challenge is evident in his gaze - and judging from the brief roll of Sakusa’s eyes, it is.

He’s careful at first- almost _too_ careful. Atsumu had been taking him deeper on his own, and was seconds from snapping at him when Sakusa shoves him down hard enough for him to choke, just a little, tears springing to his eyes. He moans, eyes fluttering closed, and fucking _finally_.

Atsumu gives into the feeling, hands curling against the comforter on either side of Sakusa’s hips. Every pass presses Sakusa deeper, and Atsumu feels a little light headed, breathing heavily through his nose. He presses his hips down into the mattress to ease the ache of his cock. His arms are trembling, and he begs his muscles to hold on for just a bit longer.

Then Sakusa speaks and his elbows almost fucking buckle. Atsumu manages to lock them just before he collapses face-first into Sakusa’s lap, eyes fluttering up to look at him.

“You’re a fucking _mess_ ,” Sakusa mumbles, voice strained. “ _Fuck_ , Atsumu-”

Atsumu moans, and lets out a harsh breath when Sakusa’s hips jump at the weak vibration. He lifts his hands, curling them against Sakusa’s thighs, and moans again, watching him with wide eyes.

“You might be- _god_ , do that again-” Atsumu hurries to follow his instruction; he’s not actually sure what he’d done differently, but tightening his lips seems to do the trick, a short moan fighting through Sakusa’s clenched teeth. “ _Fuck._ You’ve never looked- better.”

Atsumu wants to look away, but he can’t, hips twitching down against the mattress. Sakusa looks kind of unreal, flushed and gleaming with sweat. His lips are pink like he’s been biting them. Atsumu can tell from the uneven rise and fall of his chest that he’s still holding back, but his eyes are what hold Atsumu’s gaze. They’re dark, dark, _dark_ , and Atsumu feels like if he looks long enough, he might see entire galaxies form and die in Sakusa’s stupid, gorgeous eyes.

He can’t look away, so he sees it when Sakusa curls forward, abs flexing tight. His other hand moves to cover his mouth, hips thrusting up into Atsumu’s mouth once before his body goes tight, trembling on the edge. He tugs Atsumu’s hair, trying to pull him up. Atsumu resists, and he’d be grinning if his mouth wasn’t already occupied.

“Atsumu- I’m, close-”

Atsumu hums and sucks, encouraging. The hand not buried in Atsumu’s hair slaps against the mattress. Sakusa’s hips give another weak twitch and he tugs his hair again.

“I am _not_ coming in your- _ah_ -” Atsumu hums again and is rewarded with another small thrust. Sakusa’s breathing like he’s just finished a marathon and he’s glaring. “Not coming in your mouth, _disgusting_ -”

Atsumu resists the tug again and sinks down further, moaning mostly for show. Sakusa’s eyes squeeze shut and his grip goes lax for a moment before tightening again.

“You’re a- _brat_ -” Sakusa huffs, a visible shiver rolling through his body. He’s sitting up almost entirely, body curling forward. “Fuck- _Atsumu_ -”

Atsumu hums again, and Sakusa lets out a strangle breath, digging his fingers into Atsumu’s hair, and comes down his throat. Atsumu swallows as fast as he can, nails digging into Sakusa’s thighs to remind him to _ease up_. Sakusa’s grip loosens after a moment and Atsumu slowly pulls off, doing his best not to leave a mess. When his mouth is free, he gives Sakusa a few lazy strokes to ease him through the last of his orgasm. He stops as soon as Sakusa’s muscles relax, and when Sakusa’s eyes peel open again, Atsumu sticks out his tongue to show off the pool of cum before closing his mouth and swallowing with a smug smirk.

“ _Disgusting_ ,” Sakusa repeats, breathing harshly to catch his breath.

“You love it,” Atsumu rasps, throwing him a lazy wink. “Gimme a kiss?”

“No.” Sakusa drops back onto the mattress, lifting his hips to tug his pants up over his softening cock with a grimace.

Atsumu shifts up the bed clumsily to collapse beside him, palming himself through his jeans. “Come on, Omi,” he wheedles. “I’m dyin’ here.”

“Don’t care.” Sakusa’s eyes are closed, cheeks still flushed.

“Touch me before your afterglow is all gone.” Atsumu bumps his head lightly against his shoulder. “Don’t be a dick.”

Sakusa turns his head, glowering. “Like I said. _Brat_.”

Atsumu stares at him for a long moment. No fucking way did he just do all of that and now Sakusa- no way is Sakusa _really_ going to leave him hanging. “C’mon, Omi-”

Sakusa makes an irritated noise and shoves Atsumu’s shoulder, pushing him onto his back. Before Atsumu can open his mouth to whine, Sakusa rolls on top of him, braced on one arm.

It’s a lot, very suddenly, and Atsumu’s complaint dies in his throat. He’d been joking about the kiss before, kind of, but now he very, very much wants to kiss him. He lifts his hands, touching Sakusa’s cheeks lightly. “Omi…”

“What do you think you deserve?” Sakusa asks. He’s not glaring anymore, and his eyes aren’t as intense as they had been, but there’s still lingering arousal and it’s enough to remind Atsumu that he’s still very, very hard.

“Jus’ want ya to touch me, Omi.” Atsumu slides his hands slowly back into his hair. “I made ya feel good, right?”

“It was fine,” Sakusa says mildly, a smirk curling his lips. 

“ _Fuck_ you, it was fi- _ine_.” Atsumu’s brain goes suddenly blank because there is a _hand_ on his _dick_ and it belongs to _Sakusa Kiyoomi._

“Hm?” Sakusa asks, like he’s not undoing the button of Atsumu’s jeans while simultaneously pressing his knuckles against him through the fabric.

“ _Omi._ ”

“Is that good enough for you? Should I stop there?” Sakusa pauses, the zipper of Atsumu’s jeans halfway down. “Or did you earn more?”

“ _Fuck_ you.” Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut, hips bucking up into the barely-there touch.

“I guess that _is_ enough-” Sakusa’s hand leaves entirely and Atsumu isn’t proud of his reaction, but he’ll be embarrassed later.

“Omi, _please._ ” Atsumu drops back to the bed, and he’s not sure why he’s already panting, but it’s probably because he’s suddenly so close he might actually come in his pants untouched in a second, and that would be worse than begging to be touched, probably.

“Please what?” Sakusa’s still smirking and Atsumu is too horny to decide if he wants to punch him or kiss him, so he settles for tugging on his hair, arching towards him again.

“Please touch me,” he manages. “Please-”

“Mm-” Sakusa tips his head with the tug, eyes bouncing to Atsumu’s mouth and back up. “Fine.”

Atsumu groans, eyes fluttering closed when Sakusa’s hand slides into his pants, long fingers wrapping around him fucking _finally_. It’s a tight fit, and a little dry, but Atsumu doesn’t really care. It feels better than it has any right to, and he’s going to come embarrassingly fast, but first-

“Omi.” He opens his eyes, hands sliding down to cup his face. “Can I kiss ya?”

“No.” Sakusa’s head dips down anyway, their foreheads pressed together.

“Just one?” Atsumu tips his head up a fraction. He feels it when Sakusa exhales, and barely resists the urge to close the gap. Sakusa does _something_ with his weird wrist that feels so good that Atsumu sees stars and lets out an embarrassing whine.

“One,” Sakusa mumbles, and crashes their mouths together again. Atsumu moans, arms hooking around his shoulders to pull him closer. He sort of expects Sakusa to hold back, but Sakusa kisses him the same as always, hungry and deep. Atsumu’s toes curl and he arches up, tries his best to hold back - but it just takes one rough graze of Sakusa’s teeth over his lip for him to tumble over the edge. He clings to Sakusa as he shakes through it, not ready to give up the kiss.

Sakusa pulls away when Atsumu feels worn out and boneless, moving Atsumu’s arms off of his shoulders slowly. He presses one quick, brief kiss to Atsumu’s lips, and Atsumu opens his eyes as Sakusa climbs out of bed.

“Hey, wait-”

“Shower,” Sakusa says brusquely, and he’s gone before Atsumu can manage to string together another sentence.

\---

Thirty minutes later, Atsumu is freshly showered and dressed in borrowed sweatpants with his ruined underwear and jeans stuffed into a plastic bag, and Sakusa is being a _bitch._

“Omi,” he whines, dragging his feet. “Why can’t I just sleep here? I’m _tired._ And I took a shower and used one of your extra toothbrushes _and_ -”

“You’re not sleeping in my bed, Miya.” Sakusa kicks his toes again, nudging him towards the door. “No discussion.”

“But it’s like-” Atsumu glances at his phone. “Omi, it’s almost _one in the mornin’._ I’m gonna get mugged.”

Sakusa gives him an unimpressed look and kicks him again. “Get a cab.”

“Cab drivers murder people all the time,” Atsumu says, but he steps down into the genkan to put on his shoes anyway. “Yer a bastard.”

“Mmhm.” Sakusa steps down beside him, tucking his feet into his shoes too. Atsumu gives him an odd look, but doesn’t question it when Sakusa steps into the hall with him, leading the way towards the exit.

“If ya let me stay, we could do it again in the morning,” Atsumu coaxes, following him down the stairs.

“Who said I want to do it again?”

“Awe, Omi-”

“And you said your team is leaving at nine. I’m not waking up in five hours just to fuck you again.”

“ _Ouch._ ”

Sakusa stops beside the double doors they’d entered through earlier that evening, hands tucked in his pockets. “Go home, Miya.”

“Fine.” Atsumu pulls his phone from his pocket, opening his Lyft app to call a car. “I guess I’ll see ya around?”

“I don’t know why you would.” Sakusa tucks his chin down into his collar and Atsumu almost recoils because it’s _cute._ Sakusa is _cute_ and that’s _repulsive._

“Be that way.” Atsumu selects a car that’s five minutes away and tucks his phone back into his pocket.

Sakusa presses the button to open the doors with his elbow. “Goodnight, Miya.”

“Night, Omi.” Atsumu steps backwards through the door, flashing him a grin. “Ya know, if we _do_ see each other again…”

“No.”

Atsumu huffs a laugh. “I was just gonna say that I’ve never _actually_ been fucked. So maybe we could try that next time. If someone doesn’t beat ya to it.”

In a moment of perfect cosmic timing, the doors hiss closed between them before Sakusa can reply, but his eyes are wide. He looks closer to _shocked_ than Atsumu has ever seen him, hands falling limply out of his pockets. Atsumu gives him a cheery wave and spins on his heel, walking off with a little extra pep in his step.

_I win._

\---

It takes nearly an hour for him to get back to the hotel, and another hour to settle down and actually fall asleep. Eight comes too early the next morning, and he doesn’t bother changing out of his borrowed sweats before dragging his hastily packed suitcase downstairs to meet the rest of the team for a quick breakfast. They’re all crammed into the bus by nine, and all Atsumu wants to do is to put in his earbuds and go to sleep.

It’s a little difficult with Bokuto, Meian, and Inunaki all staring at him expectantly, though. He tries to ignore them for a few minutes by fussing with his phone, but none of them seem deterred. They’re less than ten minutes away from the hotel when he finally gives in, snapping his head up to glare at each of them in turn.

“ _What?_ ”

“You got back really late,” Bokuto says immediately.

“And those are definitely not your pants,” Inunaki adds.

Atsumu looks down at his pants, which are admittedly a little more _yellow_ than his usual wardrobe, the _energen_ brand running down one leg in bold black letters. He looks back up, raising his eyebrows. “These _are_ my pants.”

“No way you would buy something that clashes with your hair like that,” Inunaki says.

Atsumu’s hand flies to his hair, scraping through his blond bangs. “Oi! They don’t clash!”

“They kinda do, Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto says gravely.

“So who’d you fuck?” Inunaki asks, grinning. 

“Rude! Unprofessional!” Atsumu points at him, looking at Meian for back-up. Meian just arches a brow, chin braced on the back of the chair in front of Atsumu to peer over at him.

“No, no. I want to know too.”

“Was it someone embarrassing?” Bokuto leans closer to him, brows nearly at his hairline.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, slouching back in his seat. “ _No._ It just isn’t someone worth mentioning. Somebody I knew from high school, we hooked up once, decided to do it again.” He waves a hand dismissively, even though his heart is racing. Telling anyone about Sakusa seems almost disrespectful, and a small part of him wants to keep it private. Another part of him also wants to scream it from the rooftops, but that part of him isn’t to be trusted.

Inunaki leers. “Was it any good?” 

“I’m goin’ to sleep,” Atsumu says resolutely, pulling his earbuds from his pocket.

“Ooh, it was bad,” Meian stage-whispers. “Can’t win them all.”

“It was _not-_ no, not doin’ it.” Atsumu shoves his earbuds in, flipping them off before twisting in his seat to burrow his face into the pillow he’d brought from home. Bokuto pats his shoulder consolingly and Atsumu wiggles away from the touch with a huff.

They leave him alone after that, but unfortunately sleep eludes him. After thirty restless minutes he unlocks his phone and finds himself hovering over his text thread with Sakusa. He reads back through their messages once, twice, and a third time, before hesitantly tapping out a new message. He stares at it for a long time; it’s just a casual _g’morning, omi :)._ But absolutely nothing about Sakusa feels appropriate when categorized as casual, even though their relationship is also nothing even close to serious.

On top of that, he’s not sure Sakusa would even want to hear from him. Actually, he’s almost positive he _wouldn’t._ Sakusa obviously likes fooling around with him, but as far as wanting to _talk_ to him…

Atsumu erases the message, backs out of the conversation, fires off a few stupid messages to a handful of friends to bury the thread further down in his recents, and decides to just not think about it.

(It takes about two weeks for him to stop thinking about Sakusa’s number, sitting innocently in his phone. Daily, that is. He still thinks about it every couple of days, a digital Pandora’s box that he’s too nervous to crack open.)

(He wonders if Sakusa is thinking about him too. But only once or twice.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has read so far~!
> 
> i realized i forgot to thank my AMAZING beta and #1 cheerleader and best friend on the planet [Rihala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rihala%22) who literally doesn't even go here, but put up with me anyway! and in her honor, i present my favorite comment on this section of the fic: "READ ME FOR FILTH, VIRGIN DADDY"
> 
> [tumblr](https://noodletastic.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/noodletastix)


	3. Chapter 3

The following spring, Atsumu takes a weekend off to travel with Osamu to Nagoya for Suna’s debut with EJP Raijin. Suna had attended Atsumu’s official debut the month before, and afterwards, had threatened Atsumu into attending his. Specifically-

( _“You’ll come to my debut, right?” Suna asks. He’s sipping on a cocktail that looks aggressively fruity and Atsumu is suddenly very jealous that he’s drinking a beer. He inches his hand slowly across the table to reach for his glass._

_“Dunno, Sunarin, I might be playin’-”_

_Suna slaps his hand without looking, narrowing his eyes. “If you don’t come to my debut, I’ll fuck your brother in your bed.”_

_Atsumu draws his hand back to his chest, making a wounded noise._

_“Already did that,” Osamu says mildly, slumped back in his seat with one arm stretched along the back of Suna’s chair._

_“Ya didn’t!” Atsumu whips his head to look at his brother. “Ya mean back home, right?”_

_Osamu smirks, taking a sip of his beer without a word._

_“How’d ya even get in my apartment!”_ )

So Atsumu climbs onto a train with his brother early Saturday morning. As soon as they’re settled, he gives Osamu a critical once-over; Osamu is wearing nicer jeans than usual, and a grey cable-knit sweater two shades darker than his hair, and he’s got on fancy shoes instead of sneakers. For once, he looks like he put in _more_ effort than Atsumu, who had settled on pairing his best jeans with an old Inarizaki sweatshirt in Suna’s honor.

“Why’re ya dressed like that, ‘Samu?”

“What’re ya talkin’ about, scrub?” Osamu glances over, already scrolling through his phone. The train hasn’t pulled out of the station yet.

“Don’t gimme that shit.” Atsumu nudges their shoulders together. “Ya look nice.” A pause. “Not a compliment.”

“You look like shit,” Osamu mutters, but there’s a tell-tale flush high in his cheeks, faint, but present.

“Ooh, yer tryin’ to impress Sunarin.” Atsumu grins, leaning forward to shove his face between Osamu and his phone. “Ya don’t have to work so hard, ya know. He’s gonna fuck ya anyway.”

Osamu slaps his hand over Atsumu’s face, shoving him away. “Shut up, ‘Tsumu.”

“I don’t get you guys.” Atsumu slumps back in his chair, wrinkling his nose. “Ya been hookin’ up since we were sixteen, ‘Samu, why aren’t ya datin’ him?”

“He doesn’t wanna do long distance.” Osamu locks his phone, looking up. “And it’s not like we could tell anyone anyhow. He’s a pro athlete. Ya know how that goes, ‘Tsumu.”

“Fuck that.” Atsumu waves him off, tipping his head. “Yer like. Head over heels for ‘im.”

Osamu huffs a sigh, tipping his head back against his seat. “It just wouldn’t work.”

“Sure.” Atsumu snorts, mimicking his posture. “That’s why ya go see him every couple of weeks, and why he comes home every time he’s on break-”

“He’s gotta visit his parents. They’re old.”

“Why’s he sleep at our house then?”

“You an’ ma gotta stop gossipin’ about us,” Osamu grumbles, turning his head away. Atsumu watches him for a long moment, cataloguing the grumpy downturn of his mouth and the way his hands fidget with his phone case, snapping the corner on and off.

Atsumu nudges their shoulders together again, huffing. “Me an’ ma couldn’t stop gossipin’ if ya paid us. But I’ll leave it be, not my business anyhow.”

“Damn right.” Osamu nudges him back, slumping against his side. He offers Atsumu an earbud, and they listen to music for the rest of the trip, leaning against each other in their seats. Atsumu decides thirty minutes later that if Suna somehow successfully breaks Osamu’s heart, he’ll have absolutely no choice but to kill him. It’s his birthright.

\---

They arrive at the stadium around two that afternoon, after dumping their things off at Suna’s (Osamu has a key and Atsumu graciously chooses not to call him out). The game doesn’t start for another hour or so, but they head inside anyway, flashing priority access tickets Suna had sent them at the door. They stand in the hallway closest to the locker room for fifteen minutes before Suna emerges, already wearing his uniform.

“Hey.” He lifts a hand in greeting, and accepts Atsumu’s high five, clasping their hands easily into a lazy handshake from highschool. “Thanks for coming. Glad I’m not going to have to do something drastic.”

Atsumu snorts, clapping him on the shoulder. “Like ya weren’t dyin’ to do somethin’ to fuck with me.”

Suna’s smirk is answer enough. He looks at Osamu, and Osamu looks at Atsumu pointedly.

“Wha-” Atsumu stops and rolls his eyes. “Oh, look. My shoe’s untied.” He crouches down to untie and retie his sneaker. He sneaks a peek just in time to catch Osamu cradling Suna’s cheek, leaning in to give him a brief, familiar kiss. Suna smiles and leans in to kiss him again, lingering.

Gross.

“Much better,” Atsumu announces, giving them time to step away from each other before straightening up. “Ya ready to be in the spotlight, Sunarin?”

“It won’t all be on me,” Suna says mildly, shoving his hands down the sides of his shorts, shoulders rolling forward into his usual slump. “Komori is debuting today too. I can probably push all the press off on him.”

“They’ll want pictures of you,” Osamu points out, scratching his cheek idly. “Komori’s got those eyebrows.”

“More quotable than me, though.”

Atsumu wants to make a joke about no one wanting a picture of Suna’s ugly mug, but his voice is stuck in his throat. If Komori’s debuting then- then what are the odds that maybe Sakusa is coming to the game, too?

His phone feels like a hot coal in his pocket, and it’s nothing short of _embarrassing_ that he’s so immediately excited. He spends the rest of Suna and Osamu’s conversation doing his best to quell the nervous energy fluttering in his belly. It doesn’t matter, that was a two time thing, if Sakusa’s here, it’s for Komori and he definitely won’t be inclined to make any time for _Atsumu_ so-

“The fuck’s the matter with you?” Osamu says and Atsumu looks up from his shoes quickly. Osamu and Suna are both staring at him with varying degrees of distaste.

“Nothin’,” Atsumu says immediately. The absolute _last_ people he wants to know about him and Sakusa are these two- well, maybe not Bokuto or his ma either. But at least they’d both be nice about it. “Just realized I’m gonna be in the stadium, surrounded by all my fans-”

“Shut up,” Osamu and Suna say in unison.

“I’m a professional player! No way they won’t recognize me! I’ve _played_ here!”

“I’m going to warm up,” Suna says. He brushes his fingers against Osamu’s arm discreetly, and Atsumu rolls his eyes again. “Come back here after. I’ll come get you for dinner.”

“Already starvin’,” Osamu says, and something about his voice has an implication that makes Atsumu wrinkle his nose. Suna’s answering smirk is completely unhelpful in dispelling the unfortunately vivid mental picture Atsumu is trying to fight off.

“Okay, we’re goin’ to find him an _actual_ snack.” Atsumu grabs Osamu’s sleeve, giving him a tug. “Kill it, Suna.”

“Thanks.” Suna turns, waving over his shoulder. “Promise I won’t choke on _my_ first serve.”

Osamu snorts and Atsumu flips off Suna’s back with an affronted huff.

“I was _excited._ ”

“Still choked.”

“Whose side are ya _on,_ ‘Samu?”

\---

They return to the main atrium. The doors had opened while they waited on Suna, eager fans wandering from stall to stall. The excitement is palpable around them as they join the throng, standing easily a head above most of the other spectators. Osamu gets himself a snack and Atsumu buys a black beanie with the EJP Raijin logo that he promptly pulls over his hair.

“Ya look like shit in that hat,” Osamu says around a mouthful of yakitori.

“I’m in _disguise._ ” Atsumu points at the hat. “My new hair’s too distinctive, people are gonna swarm me.”

“Literally no one gives a shit about you, ‘Tsumu.”

“Ya know it hurts when ya say such mean things, right?”

The bleachers are packed when they try to find a seat. They walk past the middle section, already too full of aggressively enthusiastic Raijin fans with more hand drums and noise makers than seems advisable. They’ve just gotten past the danger zone when Atsumu draws up short, staring into the stands. Osamu bumps into him, curses, and stumbles back a step.

“Oi!”

Sakusa hasn’t noticed him yet. He’s sitting alone, a few rows from the bottom of the stands. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of the same leather jacket he’d been wearing the night Atsumu met him for coffee, layered over a faded lime green Itachiyama hoodie. The draw string is pulled tight enough around his throat for him to burrow his mask-covered chin into his collar. The bunched up hood is pushing his curls up at odd angles. He seems to be physically radiating waves of negative energy, enough so that no one has attempted to sit near him, even though he’s in a prime spot.

Atsumu grins, reaching back to pat Osamu’s chest with faux condolence, before bounding up the steps. Sakusa notices Atsumu two seconds before he drops into the seat beside him, stretching out his legs to take up as much space as possible without actually touching him. “Omi! Ya got a haircut!”

Sakusa leans to the side away from him, chin digging deeper into his collar. His eyes are narrow. He’s fully pissed to see Atsumu, but Atsumu honestly doesn’t care. The reaction is too satisfying for him to be bothered by the fact that it’s negative.

“Miya.” It’s that _I’m chewing rocks_ tone, and it only makes Atsumu grin wider.

“Did ya miss me, Omi-Omi?”

“Oi, moron. What’d ya go runnin’ off for?” Osamu scoots down the row to drop into the seat beside him, leaning forward a bit. “Oh. Sakusa-san.”

“Osamu-san.”

“Just Osamu’s fine.”

“Just Sakusa, then.”

Atsumu leans forward a bit to drag Sakusa’s gaze back to him. “Hey, why’s he get Osamu but I’m Miya?”

“I can’t call you both Miya,” Sakusa says slowly. “That would be confusing.”

“But you could still call me Atsumu.”

“Why on _earth_ would I do that?”

“Ya here to see Komori?” Osamu interrupts, tugging Atsumu back by the collar of his shirt to make him sit properly in his seat.

“Yes. I’m on break, and if I missed it, he would have been… sad.” Sakusa’s face might be covered by his mask, but Atsumu is sure he’s scowling. 

He snorts, flopping his arm along the back of Sakusa’s seat, careful not to actually make any contact with him or his clothes. “Ya didn’t want to come see him? He’s yer cousin, right?”

“What’s your point?”

“You are _ice cold_ , Omi-kun.”

“They’re comin’ in.” Osamu shifts forward in his seat, looking down at the court. 

The away team enters first with little fanfare, their names and stats mostly drowned out by the rumble of the crowd. Atsumu shifts forward too, and he and Osamu let out a simultaneous _whoop_ as the announcer calls, “Ojiro Aran!”

“Are you going to yell the whole game?” Sakusa wonders aloud. Atsumu flaps a hand at him, grinning down as Aran crosses the court.

“That’s our friend, you remember him, right?” Atsumu glances over his shoulder at Omi briefly. “He was our ace.”

“Don’t recall.”

“Bullshit, he was ranked just after you and Bokkun.” Atsumu snorts, flailing a hand when Aran turns in their direction.

“He can’t see ya, moron,” Osamu says, but he’s waving too.

They settle back down as the rest of the Tachiban Red Falcons are announced, and Atsumu slumps a little closer to Sakusa. “Where’s the rest of yer old team? They didn’t come to see Komori?”

“They’re over there.” Sakusa nods towards the center section, right at the mass of people Atsumu and Osamu had avoided when they entered.

“What? Don’t wanna be part of the cheer squad?”

“Not interested,” Sakusa says flatly. 

Atsumu snorts, tipping his head to look at him. He did get his haircut. It’s got more of a shape now, styled to one side. The bottom has been shaved tight in an undercut similar to Atsumu’s, and Atsumu wonders how it would feel under his nails. He realizes a second too late that he’s staring, and Sakusa catches him, dark eyes unamused.

“Where’s yours?”

Atsumu blinks, befuddled. He opens his mouth to try and answer, but he has no idea what the question is referring to, and he’s a little distracted by Sakusa’s face. “Uh-”

“Your old team, Miya,” Sakusa clarifies, blinking boredly.

“Ah, fuck, yeah-” Atsumu shifts to sit a bit more upright and put a smidge more distance between them before he does something _entirely_ stupid. “Nah, they wanted to, but it was a little far out. Kita-san was gonna come, but he got caught up at work.”

“Suna doesn’t mind,” Osamu adds. He’s relaxed back into his chair again, but his eyes are focused on the doors the team will be entering through any minute. Lucky- he probably didn’t notice Atsumu’s gawking. “Not like you. Woulda been inconsolable if Kita and Aran had missed yer debut. Practically cried when Oomimi had to call off.”

Sakusa snorts. Atsumu’s ears heat, and he tugs his beanie down a bit to disguise it. “Suna literally threatened me to make sure I came.”

“That was-” Osamu sits up again as the doors open, and this time the crowd goes absolutely _wild_ as the team begins filing in. Suna and Komori are the last to be announced, and Suna enters first. As soon as the announcer says his name, Osamu and Atsumu both leap to their feet. Atsumu _whoops_ and Osamu stuffs his fingers in his mouth to whistle. On the floor, Atsumu notices Aran yelling too, a big grin on his face as the announcer gives a full introduction, formerly welcoming Suna to the EJP Raijin starting line up.

Atsumu glances at Osamu and stops mid-shout. Osamu’s cheeks are flushed pale-pink, and his eyes are a bit shiny. His attention is fully focused on Suna, who is waving half-heartedly to the crowd as he crosses the court to join his team.

 _Oh,_ Atsumu realizes. _He really does love him._

Komori is announced next, and there’s a particularly loud roar from a section decked out in a mishmosh of garish green, yellow, and white. Sakusa stays seated, clapping politely. Atsumu makes sure Sakusa sees him roll his eyes, and Sakusa flips him off mid-clap.

\---

They end up at a small izakaya after the game, piled into a private back room with Suna and the rest of EJP Raijin. The game had gone the full five sets, and Suna’s team had managed to get the win in the final round with a 27-25 score. True to his word, Suna hadn’t messed up a single serve, and had managed a no-touch point on his second rotation. Osamu had been unbearably smug, casually leaning into Atsumu to say, “Maybe that’s why he made first string before ya.”

To Atsumu’s surprise, the crowd from Itachiyama doesn’t join them for dinner, but Sakusa does. Atsumu ends up seated at the very end of the table, with Osamu between him and Suna. Komori is right across the table from him, and Sakusa had silently taken the head of the table, carefully separated from the rest of the jovial team and away from any clumsy elbows.

“Miya-san!” Komori says, turning his attention to Atsumu after they had all placed their orders.

Atsumu looks over, arching a brow. He likes Komori well enough. Other than his almost annoying optimism, he’s a good guy. Atsumu wonders if maybe Komori had gotten all of their family’s charm, and if that explained why Sakusa was such a taciturn bastard. The difference in their personalities is so stark, Atsumu hadn’t realized they were cousins until their final year of high school, despite attending training camps with them for years.

“Komori-kun.” Atsumu gives him an easy smile. “You were great. Congratulations.”

“I didn’t know you were coming! I assumed you’d have a match of your own.”

Atsumu grins, leaning his chin in his hand. “Got lucky. It’s our off weekend.”

“Lucky,” Komori agrees, mimicking his posture with a grin. “Have any notes for me?”

“Ah, we’re celebrating.” Atsumu waves a hand. “Let your coach give you notes. I’ll just give you praise, hm?”

Komori huffs a laugh, a pale, delighted blush coloring his cheeks. “You’re as bad as Kiyoomi-kun. He just keeps saying I _played well._ ” He wrinkles his nose, shooting a covert, amused glance at his cousin.

“You did,” Sakusa says. Atsumu glances over, watching him take off his mask and fold it in half, then in half again, before pulling his hand sanitizer from his pocket. It’s a disturbingly familiar routine, and Atsumu wonders when anything about Sakusa became _familiar_ to him.

“Yeah, yeah, but I know you’ve got notes. You _always_ have notes.” Komori waggles his finger at him, before looking at Atsumu again. “I saw your debut too, you know. You still do the craziest sets. I thought you were gonna do the splits, when you tossed to Bokuto-san in the last set.”

Atsumu’s grin turns smug. That had been the move he’d gotten the most praise for after the match was over. Deservedly so. “Almost did.” He leans forward. “I forgot how pretty your dives are, Komori-kun.”

Komori laughs again, and it’s open and bright and _so_ different from Sakusa’s begrudging huffs. “Stop it.”

Atsumu clicks his tongue dismissively. He cups a hand around his mouth and leans closer, lowering his voice with a sly smirk. “Don’t tell Inunaki, but I think I like your moves more than his.”

Atsumu could make a meal out of the way Komori’s eyes subtly widen, flush going just a bit deeper. “Our secret,” he agrees in a stage-whisper.

“Don’t let him flirt with you, Komori,” Suna says drily, leaning around Osamu to look over at them. “He’ll get a big head.”

“Oi!” Atsumu glares, flipping him off. “Mind yer business, Sunarin.”

“Oh, was he flirting?” Komori asks innocently. 

“Yes,” Osamu says. “He’ll only get worse if you don’t discourage him.”

“Okay,” Komori says simply. His eyes flicker briefly towards Sakusa and then back to Atsumu, a sweet grin pulling at the corners of his lips. Atsumu flashes him another lazy grin. He spares a glance for Sakusa too, and if he’d still had his mask on, he’d look as apathetic as usual. But he doesn’t, and the small downturn of his mouth is familiar too. That’s the exact sort of irritation Atsumu has been chasing since they were fourteen. _That’s_ interesting.

It’s like a loose string on a sweater; Atsumu can’t help but pick at it. He spends the next thirty minutes flirting with Komori relentlessly. He’s careful to keep it light, casual, almost friendly, because he really _doesn’t_ want Komori to get the wrong idea. As charming as Komori may be, Atsumu has never felt any attraction to him. He thinks it’s something about his odd eyebrows, or maybe it’s just that he seems so _wholesome._ More realistically, it’s because Atsumu has never seen him without Sakusa at his side.

He keeps a careful eye on Sakusa as he chats with Komori. Complimenting Komori’s moves on the court earns him a slightly deeper frown. Touching Komori’s hand on the table, nothing beyond a light brush over his knuckles while Komori tells a story, earns a brief clench of Sakusa’s fist around his chopsticks. A playful suggestion that Komori come visit the MSBY gym to _get some tips_ earns a huff almost too soft to hear from Sakusa, and an elbow in the ribs from Osamu.

His next goal is an eyeroll, which he hopes to win by complementing Motoya’s uniform with a heavy emphasis on his legs. But Komori is called down the table by one of his teammates, and gives Atsumu a little wiggle of his fingers as a goodbye before scooting away.

“Yer relentless tonight,” Osamu says, giving him a look.

“Yer too busy flirtin’ with Suna to entertain me,” Atsumu shoots back. “I’m bored.”

Osamu rolls his eyes and turns his head back to his conversation with Suna and a couple of his teammates.

Atsumu takes a sip of his beer, taking a sly peek at Sakusa. Sakusa is already staring at him, his eyes hard and lips pursed. It sends a shiver up his spine, but he turns towards him anyway, grinning lazily.

“Did you enjoy the game, Omi-kun?”

“Stop it,” Sakusa says simply.

Atsumu widens his eyes in mock confusion. “Stop what?”

“You know what.”

“I’m not a mind reader, Omi.” He tips his head back, draining his beer. “Gonna need to be more clear-”

“Would you like me to flirt with your brother?”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose, dropping his glass back to the table. “Ew. Don’t be gross. Suna’d kill ya anyway.”

“I’ll risk it.” Sakusa blinks slowly, mouth twisting down into a full scowl.

“Ooh.” Atsumu leans closer. “Are ya _jealous,_ Omi?”

Sakusa’s scowl turns into a sneer. “ _What_ would I be jealous of?”

“Maybe ya want my attention on you.” Atsumu sets his chin in his hand again, body turning towards Sakusa to block their neighbors out of the conversation. He bites his lip, eyes roaming down Sakusa’s body. “Maybe yer jealous I’m not talkin’ to you.”

“There has never been a moment where I’ve wanted to _talk_ to you, Miya.” Sakusa rolls his eyes, and it wasn’t how Atsumu was _planning_ to get that reaction, but it’s satisfying regardless.

“What do you wanna do to me then?” Atsumu grins slowly, watching the way Sakusa’s eyes bounce over his body and back to his face, almost like the once-over was unintentional.

“Less and less each time you flirt with my _cousin._ ”

“Just think I oughta compare what I can get.” Atsumu tips his head to the side. “Maybe Komori would show me a better time than you.”

Sakusa shakes his head and takes a sip of his water. “You’re a child.”

“C’mon, Omi,” he coaxes. “Ya know yer a little jealous-”

“I can’t believe I was thinking about fucking you tonight,” Sakusa says, like he’s commenting on the weather. 

Atsumu’s face goes hot before he even finishes interpreting the words, and he draws back a bit, eyes wide. He’s never prepared, not really, for Sakusa to be so blunt about sex. “I-”

Sakusa smirks and Atsumu scrambles to figure out how exactly the tables have been turned so quickly. Sakusa’s eyes turn away from him, and Atsumu feels like his brain is processing on a delay, because he hadn’t even _noticed_ Komori’s return.

“Sorry,” Komori says, flopping back on his side of the table with a laugh. “I had to settle a bet.”

“You were a mess in the third set,” Sakusa says without preamble.

Komori slaps his hand on the table and points at Sakusa victoriously. “I _knew it._ ”

“I thought it was only polite to let you celebrate first,” Sakusa says mildly.

“Alright, go on. What did you see?”

The next fifteen minutes are spent with Sakusa ruthlessly tearing into Komori’s performance. Komori takes it in without complaint and laughs at critiques that would keep Atsumu up at night. Through it all, Atsumu keeps his mouth firmly shut.

Sakusa _had been_ thinking about fucking him. Does that mean he’s _not_ going to fuck him now? Atsumu has spent the last two months fantasizing about little else. His throw away comment to Sakusa as he’d left his dorm had taken root in Atsumu’s brain. He couldn’t stop imagining how he would get Sakusa back in bed, how Sakusa would fuck him, how it would _feel._ It’s become a small obsession, something he thinks about between practices, or when he’s lonely and needs- _something_ to distract him from the constant, low level stress that seems to come hand-in-hand with being a professional athlete.

And he may have just fucked up his only opportunity by running his _stupid_ mouth. 

Komori hops up a few minutes later, excusing himself to the bathroom, and as soon as he’s out of earshot, Atsumu swivels his head back to Sakusa, swallowing down some of his urgency before murmuring, “ _Were_ thinkin’ about fuckin’ me?”

Sakusa takes a sip of his water and doesn’t say anything, watching him impassively.

“ _Omi._ ” Atsumu glances at his brother briefly and scoots a little closer. “ _Were?_ ”

Sakusa folds his hands beneath his chin and still doesn’t speak, a faint smirk curling the edge of his mouth.

Atsumu clicks his tongue and glances away, picking at a dry piece of skin at the edge of his thumb nail just to have _something_ to do. “I’m just askin’ a simple question.” Nothing. Atsumu rips the skin off and hisses at the burn, clenching his fist. He looks up again, glaring at Sakusa. “You’re bein’ an ass.”

Sakusa gives a thoughtful hum and nothing else.

Atsumu glances towards the door, checking for Komori’s return, before looking back at him. “I was takin’ the piss, alright? I was _jokin’._ ”

“And?”

“Fuck- do you want me to _apologize?_ ” Atsumu shoves his hands into his lap to stop himself from picking any further.

“Only if you mean it,” Sakusa taunts, eyes glittering.

Atsumu wants to hit him. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he snaps.

Sakusa’s smirk edges towards a grin for a split second before disappearing all together. He picks up his water again, takes another sip, and says, “Good boy.”

Atsumu sputters, leaning back. “You _fucker-_ ”

“Figure out a way to leave discreetly,” Sakusa says, pulling his mask from his pocket. He slides it back over his ears. “I’ll wait in the parking lot. You have fifteen minutes.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, standing just as Komori returns. They exchange a quiet goodbye that Atsumu almost misses entirely, his mind a blur of static.

_Omi’s gonna fuck me. Omi’s gonna fuck me. Omi’s gonna-_

“Oi,” Osamu says, breaking through the noise.

Atsumu blinks, turning his head to his twin. “Huh?”

“We’re goin’ to a different bar.” Osamu gives him a look. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Oh, uh.” Atsumu shakes his head, lifting a hand to his own forehead. “I don’t really feel too hot. Think I’m tired.”

Osamu makes a considering noise and reaches up to feel his forehead too. “Yer warm.” Which isn’t surprising, since Atsumu feels like he’s flushed from head to toe. “Wanna go on back? I can give ya a key to Suna’s.”

“Uh, maybe.” Atsumu nods after a moment. “Yea, I think so. Gonna be able to party without me?”

“We would prefer it,” Suna says, tipping his head to look at him. Then he adds, “There’s ibuprofen in my medicine cabinet, if you need it.”

“So glad t’know I’m appreciated,” Atsumu grumbles. 

He waits while Osamu twists Suna’s key off of his own keychain, glancing at the clock mounted in the corner of the room. He pockets the key, confirms that yeah, he knows how to get back and _yeah,_ he knows he’s sleeping on the couch. He says his goodbyes as quickly as possible. He exchanges a brief, friendly hug with Komori. He gets sucked into a conversation with Washio Tatsuki, and while he would usually be happy to commiserate over having Bokuto as a teammate, he’s too antsy to do anything other than laugh at Washio’s story. He makes it out just shy of fifteen minutes later and practically sprints out of the restaurant as soon as he’s clear of their lounge.

Sakusa is waiting outside, head bowed over his phone. He glances up briefly as Atsumu tumbles out of the door, before turning to head across the parking lot without a backwards glance. “I drove,” he says simply. Atsumu follows him and hysterically wonders if this entire day has all been a very, very bizarre dream.

\---

It’s too quiet in the car.

They’ve been riding for a little over five minutes, and Sakusa hasn’t said a word. There’s music playing from his stereo, something with a low, insistent beat, but it’s too quiet for Atsumu to try and place it. He keeps glancing at Sakusa, trying to gauge his mood, but it’s too dark, and his mask is still on, and he hasn’t looked away from the road once.

And Atsumu actually feels kind of guilty. Flirting with Komori to get a reaction from Sakusa probably wasn’t fair, not to Sakusa and certainly not to Komori. It was a cheap move, and unnecessary, since he’s gotten pretty good at stirring up a reaction from Sakusa without involving anyone else in… whatever this is.

“I didn’t know ya were gonna be here,” Atsumu says finally.

“Why would you have?” Sakusa asks. He has one elbow braced against the window ledge, fist tucked under his chin, and his eyes don't stray from the road.

“I just mean- ugh.” Atsumu drags his fingers through his hair, looking out the window. “Last time I saw ya I told ya you could fuck me, and I kinda didn’t think the next time I ran into ya it’d be around your cousin and my brother. It threw me off.”

Sakusa makes a noncommittal noise, and Atsumu tries to wait him out. He fails.

“You were bein’ too normal and I noticed ya get annoyed when I started flirtin’ so. I just kept doin’ it. It was weird. Sorry.” Sakusa huffs one of his quiet laughs, and Atsumu whips his head around to glare. “I’m tryin’ to be _nice to ya._ ”

“Did you expect me to _flirt_ with you?”

Atsumu looks back out the window with a huff, shifting his shoulders awkwardly against the prickle of embarrassment crawling up his neck. “No. But ya usually…”

The incomplete sentence hangs between them. Atsumu watches the city pass them by and begs his racing heart to slow. What _had_ he expected? They didn’t flirt- well, not around other people. And he could have gotten under Sakusa’s skin a hundred other ways, rather than attempt to play on jealousy that almost certainly didn’t exist. He’d only been pissed because it was _Komori,_ not because _Atsumu_ had been flirting with someone else-

“Why do you want to have sex with me, Miya?” Sakusa asks.

“You’re hot,” Atsumu answers immediately, grateful to drop his previous line of thinking. 

It’s a question he’s been trying to answer for himself for the last several weeks, and it’s the only answer he’s been able to find. It isn’t because he likes him. Sakusa is the most annoying person he knows. Everything about his personality is off-putting, and the only time Atsumu has _fun_ with him is when he can piss him off or when they have their tongues down each other’s throats. Sakusa doesn’t care about him. He has often said that he has no interest talking to him. And Sakusa usually looks at him like he’d prefer that Atsumu disappear.

It’s not a look Atsumu is unfamiliar with.

“And?” Sakusa prods, when Atsumu offers nothing else.

“I dunno, Omi, yer a bastard.” Atsumu slumps down into his seat, glancing over at him. “But when ya kiss me it’s like ya flip a switch in my brain and all I know how ta do is keep kissin’ ya.”

Sakusa glances over, brow raised. “Poetic.”

“Fuck you. I just mean we got chemistry.” Atsumu rolls his eyes. “We’re _sexually compatible_ or somethin’.”

“We are,” Sakusa agrees, eyes back on the road. “Unfortunately.”

They lapse into silence again, and Atsumu has to resist the urge to hide his hands beneath his thighs to keep them still. “What about you?” he asks finally.

“Hm?” Sakusa leans forward a bit, glancing left and right before turning a corner smoothly.

“Why do ya want to have sex with me?” Atsumu isn’t really sure he wants to know the answer, but fair is fair. If he had to cobble something together, so does Sakusa.

Sakusa is silent for a long minute, rolling to a stop behind another car at a red light. “You’re respectful of my boundaries,” he says finally. “You ask if touching me is okay before I have to tell you not to.”

Atsumu gives him an odd look. “Doesn’t everybody do that?”

Sakusa casts another glance his way, before looking back at the road as the light turns green. “No,” he says simply.

It reminds Atsumu of the hotel room at nationals, when Sakusa had hidden his face and said _I can’t touch you,_ and it’s a confirmation of what Atsumu had wondered before: other people _hadn’t_ been okay with Sakusa’s limits. Had maybe forced their way past them, or gotten angry at him for them. It makes something painful curl in Atsumu’s chest and he presses his hands beneath his thighs to repress the _absurd_ urge to reach out and take Sakusa’s hand.

“You’ve never done it before, right?” Atsumu asks instead, swallowing the painful lump in his throat. “Had sex, I mean.”

“No,” Sakusa repeats.

“Ya know we don’t have to.” Atsumu glances over at him again. “Anyway ya want to touch me is good enough.”

“Like I said.” Sakusa turns on his blinker and rolls into the parking lot of a small konbini, sliding into a parking spot right out front. He cuts the engine, releases his seatbelt, and looks at Atsumu with eyes that reflect the fluorescents shining through the windows and reveal galaxies. “That’s why I want to.”

Atsumu is too stunned to move, and by the time he realizes he was probably supposed to go inside too, Sakusa is climbing back into the car. He shoves his bag across the center console into Atsumu’s lap. Atsumu peeks inside while Sakusa starts the car and pulls back onto the road, and strangles a laugh.

“Snacks, condoms, and lube?”

“Shut up.”

\---

Sakusa is staying in a motel near Suna’s (and apparently Komori’s) apartment. When Atsumu asks why he isn’t crashing with his cousin, the look Sakusa gives him could peel paint.

“Motoya is a _slob_ ,” he says, and Atsumu decides to leave it alone. 

They ride the elevator in silence, and when they make it to Sakusa’s room, he goes straight to the sink as soon as his shoes are off. Atsumu follows, leaning against the counter beside him. Sakusa’s mask is hanging from one ear, and Atsumu reaches over to pluck it off, holding it over the trash can. When Sakusa nods, he drops it in.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Sakusa cuts off the sink, eyes down as he dries his hands.

Atsumu tilts his head. He’s not sure if it’s a genuine offer or a demand disguised as a request, but he hasn’t had a shower since the night before, and he spent his entire morning on public transportation, and most of his afternoon surrounded by people. He’s not feeling very _fresh_ and one glance in the mirror reveals that his hair is still matted down from his beanie. He looks sort of terrible, actually.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Atsumu says, running self-conscious fingers through his fringe. He notices when Sakusa’s shoulders relax, and tries not to be too pleased with himself.

“You first, then.” Sakusa nods towards the shower and moves away.

“Awe, you’re not gonna get in with me, Omi?”

Sakusa doesn’t dignify him with a response, closing the bathroom door behind himself with a solid _snap._

Atsumu takes his time in the shower, scrubbing himself down with careful attention to more _private_ areas. He focuses on the task at hand, instead of on the nerves simmering in his belly. Atsumu hasn’t had a _first_ in a while, and he’d sort of been putting off his… _ass virginity._ He has to muffle a nervous giggle at the thought.

He’s experimented with it plenty. He knows how to finger himself and actually make it feel good. It’s definitely on frequent rotation in his private time, but he’s never been able to gather the courage to order a toy and he’s never had anyone he was willing to be that... _open_ for. It feels too vulnerable, too raw. He’d said as much to Osamu, once, and after his brother had stopped snickering at him, ( _“Shut up, ‘Samu, I’m bein’ serious!”_ ) he’d quietly agreed.

( _“It’s different,” Osamu says at last, voice a quiet murmur from the top bunk. Atsumu rolls over, curling his body around his spare pillow. “Fuckin’ someone, it’s intimate too, if ya like ‘em. But havin’ someone in ya…” There’s a shuffling sound as Osamu turns over in his bunk too. “Yer exposed. Ya gotta trust ‘em, or at least- I had to.”_

_“Was it…” Atsumu frowns at the wall, at one of the adhesive stars he remembers pressing against the plaster when he and Osamu still actually fit in their stupid beds. When they could curl up together on one bunk when they had nightmares. They’re seventeen now, and the days of snuggling up in their narrow beds have long passed. “Was it okay?”_

_“Suna was good to me,” Osamu says quietly. “He was real… gentle, I guess. And I know ‘im so well, it didn’t feel as… I know him, and he knows me, so it was good.” Another pause. “Real good.”_

_Atsumu bites his lip and closes his eyes, pressing his face against his pillow. “I dunno if I could do that, ‘Samu.”_

_“Not with Suna, ya can’t,” Osamu jokes and Atsumu groans, twisting to kick uselessly at the bottom of his mattress. They’re quiet again for a long moment, and then Osamu adds, “You can do it, ‘Tsumu. It’s just gotta be someone ya like enough, and who likes you enough. Might take ya a while to find anyone who fits the bill, but.” A pause. “Someone’s gonna treat ya good one day. I promise.”_

_Atsumu presses his face deeper into his pillow, and does his best to believe him, even as the voice in his head whispers something different._ )

Someone he likes. Someone who likes him enough. 

Does he like Sakusa? More than some people, maybe. Sakusa’s one of the only people he’s ever met who actually takes volleyball as seriously as him, and he likes that. Sakusa can be funny, sometimes. Atsumu definitely likes the way Sakusa touches him, and the way he talks to him when they’re _alone_. He likes the way his name sounds when Sakusa says it.

Does Sakusa like him enough? Debatable. There’s not a lot of positive evidence, and plenty to the contrary. But Sakusa might trust him enough. He’d said as much, hadn’t he?

Atsumu jolts out of his thoughts when he hears the bathroom door click open. He realizes he’s been standing under the spray, already clean, for at least three minutes. _Embarrassing._

“Omi?” he calls.

“I’m putting a pair of pants on the counter for you,” Sakusa says simply.

“Oh, uh- thanks?”

The door clicking closed is the only response. Atsumu does a quick final rinse, and cuts off the shower.

\---

Sakusa gets into the shower right after Atsumu. Atsumu busies himself with trying to style his hair into something mildly presentable without product, and when that fails, he unpacks the bag of snacks just to have something to occupy his hands. He puts the condoms and the lube on the bedside table, the waters in the hotel minifridge, and the snacks beside the television.

By the time Sakusa emerges, he’s settled down in the chair in the corner of the room, searching through his email. He glances up and freezes, staring at Sakusa. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants just like the ones he’d left for Atsumu, and has a towel draped over his neck to catch the water dripping sluggishly from his curls. And he’s staring at Atsumu, standing just outside the bathroom door.

“Omi,” Atsumu says, and his voice comes out hoarse. He clears his throat and lowers his feet to the floor, glancing down at his phone. He stands and holds it towards him. “Here, I remembered this. I thought, maybe, you’d like to see it-”

Sakusa crosses the room and takes the phone from him. Atsumu waits, and when Sakusa looks up, there’s a small furrow between his brows. “What’s this?”

“It’s my results from my last physical. It’s a few months old, but yer the only person I’ve hooked up with since, anyhow, so I thought ya might wanna see I’m all clean-”

Atsumu doesn’t get to say more, which is a blessing, since he’d been on the verge of rambling. Sakusa cuts him off with a very sudden kiss. The hand not holding Atsumu’s phone lifts to curl into his hair and Atsumu raises his arms to loop around Sakusa’s shoulders, melting into him with a quiet moan.

It doesn’t last as long as he’d like. When Sakusa pulls away, he sticks out his lower lip petulantly, arms still locked around his shoulders. Sakusa doesn’t try to pull away, looking down at him with unreadable eyes.

“What’d ya stop for?” Atsumu asks. He tips his head up to try and kiss him again, managing to graze his lips across Sakusa’s cheek.

“Thank you,” Sakusa says. 

His voice is different than usual, a little softer and a little more sincere. It makes Atsumu pause. He pulls back a bit to look at him properly, hands sliding down to grip either end of the towel still looped around Sakusa’s shoulders. There’s a very faint blush high on Sakusa’s cheeks, and his mouth is pressed into an uncomfortable line. Something in Atsumu’s chest clenches and he needs to escape this feeling _immediately._

“No worries, Omi.” Atsumu gives the towel a light tug, clumsily trying to clear the sudden tension. “Ya gonna get sappy on me?”

Sakusa’s mouth relaxes and he rolls his eyes. He tosses Atsumu’s phone onto the hotel dresser with a clatter that makes Atsumu wince, and grips Atsumu’s waist instead, turning him on the carpet. “Shut up, Atsumu.”

The knot in Atsumu’s chest eases. _Safe, normal._ “Omi-Omi is so _sweet_ ,” Atsumu teases. He tugs the towel away from Sakusa’s neck, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor.

“Is it normal to regret something before you even do it?” Sakusa muses, shoving him towards the bed.

Atsumu snorts out a laugh, letting himself tumble back onto the mattress with a bounce. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, and winks at Sakusa. He wiggles a finger in a _c’mere_ gesture. “Only one way t’find out, right?”

“Absolutely going to regret it,” Sakusa mutters, but he crawls over Atsumu all the same. Atsumu flops back against the mattress and reels Sakusa into a kiss as soon as he’s close enough, parting his lips at the first brush of Sakusa’s tongue.

Atsumu has kissed plenty of people, but he’s never kissed anyone like Sakusa. Kissing Sakusa has never been anything but _easy._ Atsumu never has to wonder if he’s doing it right or if he’s being boring. Kissing Sakusa feels as natural as breathing. It’s like a constant feedback loop of pleasure as they nip and suck and bite at each other, muffled noises crawling from both of their throats. They’ve only been together twice, but he’d meant what he said in the car; kissing Sakusa makes everything else fade away.

He loses track of time, minutes or hours punctuated only by grazing teeth or brief pauses to gasp for breath. Atsumu lets his hands roam, delicately tracing the contour of Sakusa’s muscles and searching for spots that make him react. Thumbs skating over his nipples does almost nothing, but brushing his fingers over the sharp jut of his collarbone makes him curl forward with a throaty moan. He doesn’t seem to be ticklish at all, but skating his nails down Sakusa's back earns a sharp twitch of Sakusa’s hips against his. Atsumu takes advantage, shifting to bracket Sakusa’s hips with his thighs to urge him closer.

Sakusa breaks the kiss and dips his head down. He grazes his teeth against the ridge of Atsumu’s jaw and Atsumu croaks out a soft whine. He drags his nails back up and curls his fingers into Sakusa’s damp curls, tipping his head back to bare his throat. Sakusa hums against his skin and presses long, lingering kisses slowly down the center of his throat, teeth grazing against his adam’s apple.

“Omi…” Atsumu swallows, shifting up against him restlessly. He’s got a working theory that Sakusa isn’t really human, because everywhere he touches Atsumu feels _electric._ Each one of his finger tips is like an active, frayed wire as they drag down his ribs. His lips feel like the muted hum of an electric fence. Atsumu’s tongue feels like he just licked a battery, sizzling and numb. It’s too much and it’s not enough at all.

Sakusa sucks a deeper kiss into the hollow of Atsumu’s throat, and Atsumu pulls his hair hard enough to make him grunt.

“Omi, I’m- I’m dying here, I’m-” Atsumu rolls his hips up and squeezes his eyes closed. “Seriously, ‘s good, but I’m- if ya wanna fuck me, we gotta get movin’-”

Sakusa’s teeth press against his skin before he pulls back to look down at him. Atsumu drags his hands down to cup his cheeks, distracted for just a moment by the wild tangle of Sakusa’s hair, before meeting his eyes again.

“You’ve never done it before, right?” Sakusa asks. It’s an echo of Atsumu’s question from earlier. Even though his voice comes out rough, Atsumu recognizes the taunt in his tone. Atsumu feels himself flush and turns his eyes away for a split second at the flash of embarrassment, before forcing himself to look back up with a glare.

“I’ve _fucked,_ ” Atsumu snaps heatlessly, dropping his arms to the mattress at his sides.

Sakusa gives him an appraising look, eyes pausing on his lips for a hair too long. “Will you get yourself ready for me, Atsumu?”

The words feel like a physical slap, and Atsumu blinks up at him, wide-eyed. “I-”

“I’m not comfortable doing it,” Sakusa interjects. He lifts a hand, pushing Atsumu’s bangs away from his face. It’s an oddly tender touch, and Atsumu’s heart kicks in his chest. He hopes Sakusa can’t feel it. “But I want to watch you.”

“ _Fuck_ , Omi.” Atsumu covers his face with both hands, groaning into his palms.

“Is that a no?” Sakusa asks, and when Atsumu peeks up between his fingers, Sakusa is smirking.

“Who just _says_ that?” Atsumu shoves his chest, and Sakusa sways with the motion, but doesn’t falter. “ _Christ._ Gimme the lube.”

Sakusa has to get off of him to reach it, and Atsumu wiggles out of his borrowed pants. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding because this is _happening._ He’s wanted it for months, maybe since his final nationals, fuck, maybe _before,_ and now _Omi is actually going to fuck him._

Sakusa falters when he turns back towards him, eyes skating over his body. Atsumu shifts a bit, fighting off the urge to grow bashful; if he knows anything, he _knows_ that his body is gorgeous. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but it’s- why does it feel so _intimate?_

Sakusa’s eyes pull away and he shifts to sit criss-cross at the foot of the bed between Atsumu’s feet. His empty hand brushes lightly up Atsumu’s calf and Atsumu lets out a sharp breath, toes curling against the sheets. Sakusa sets the bottle of lube aside and touches his other leg lightly, sliding his hands up, up, up, to Atsumu’s thighs. He presses his knees apart and Atsumu lets his legs fall open. 

He knows he’s watching Sakusa with too-wide eyes, but he can’t really help it. He looks- he really might _not_ be human, because Atsumu hasn’t ever seen anyone else so heart wrenchingly _stunning._ His hair is standing up in odd directions, completely disheveled. His cheeks are flushed pink and his lips are swollen from _Atsumu’s teeth._ And his eyes. His eyes are so focused on Atsumu, on where he’s touching him, and Atsumu feels absolutely helpless.

“Like whatcha see, Omi-kun?” he asks, keeping his voice as even as possible.

Sakusa’s dark eyes lift from his thighs, hands that had been kneading the firm muscle pausing with one last squeeze. “Yes,” he says simply. 

Atsumu feels his cheeks heat and resists the urge to close his legs. “Good,” he chokes out weakly, glancing towards the lube that had been abandoned on the sheets. “Ya gonna give me that so I can-?”

Sakusa’s eyes narrow and his hands clench, pulling Atsumu further down the bed with one sharp tug. Atsumu yelps, scrambling onto his elbows. “Oi!”

“You’re acting weird,” Sakusa accuses.

“ _Yer_ acting weird,” Atsumu throws back, doing his best with the odd angle to knee Sakusa in the ribs. Sakusa bats his leg away with an irritated huff.

“You know we also don’t have to do this if _you_ don’t want to, Atsumu,” Sakusa says, mouth turning down into a scowl.

Atsumu opens his mouth to snap back then freezes, mouth half-open, to stare. Sakusa glances away, scowl deepening. If Atsumu didn’t know better, he’d think Sakusa seems a little nervous too. Atsumu shifts to sit up all the way, heart hammering.

“Omi.” He lifts a hand, tapping his shoulder lightly, suddenly unsure how to touch him. Sakusa glances at Atsumu’s hand, his own shoulder, and then back at Atsumu’s face, nose just barely scrunched in irritation as if to say _what the fuck was that._ Some of the tension that had built in Atsumu’s chest eases and he snorts, clapping his hands lightly on Sakusa’s cheeks before dropping them back to his knees.

“Omi,” he repeats, “I can’t tell ya how much I wanna fuck ya. It’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about since I saw ya last, and it made me act like a moron all day.”

“Then why do you look like you want to run?” Sakusa asks. One of his hands is still on Atsumu’s leg, and Sakusa should be one of those people with constantly cold hands, but instead they radiate heat. It makes the casual pressure against his calf hard to ignore.

Atsumu hesitates; he could lie. He could pretend he’s only excited, that he doesn’t sort of feel like his anxiety is going to make him vibrate out of his skin. But he doesn’t really want to.

“I’m kinda nervous.” Atsumu scratches his fingers through his hair, looking away with a pout. He regrets saying it immediately because it’s _embarrassing._ “I’ve never had anything but my fingers in me, and no offense, I’ve seen yer dick, and logistically-”

“Atsumu.”

Atsumu is deeply grateful for the interruption. He swallows down the rest of his words and looks back at Sakusa, lifting his chin. “Don’t laugh.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to _laugh._ ” His index finger taps against Atsumu’s calf one, two, three, four times before he speaks again. “What do you need to feel comfortable?”

Atsumu blinks, head tipping to the side curiously. “Huh?”

Sakusa looks like he would rather be almost anywhere else, discomfort obvious in the tense line of his mouth. “What can I _do_ ,” he says, through his teeth, “to make you feel _comfortable?_ ”

“I dunno,” Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “I figure once yer in me, I won’t really have any complaints.”

Sakusa drops his face into his hands, letting out a heavy sigh. He rubs his thumbs into his eyes for a moment before looking up again. “You’re never going to relax enough for us to get there if you’re this in your head.”

“How do _you_ know that?” Atsumu arches a brow.

“I know how to _read_.”

Atsumu croons, unable to resist saying, “Omi-kun reads _porn?_ ” He leans forward, forcing his eyes to go comically large. “Omi is _bad._ ”

Sakusa glances at the ceiling beseechingly before looking at Atsumu again. “I knew that I would have sex with you if we saw each other again,” he says slowly, _pointedly_ , and Atsumu abruptly remembers that he is naked and still hard and definitely still about to get fucked. Omi continues, “And I have a vested interest in not making you _bleed._ ”

“You wanted to make me bleed once,” Atsumu blurts thoughtlessly, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. _Omi did research for me, for **me** , for-_

“Biting someone and _hurting_ someone are different things.” Sakusa is watching him intently. “So, again. Tell me what you need, Atsumu.” He lifts one hand, cupping Atsumu’s cheek lightly. His thumb brushes over Atsumu’s cheekbone delicately and that touch is suddenly all Atsumu can focus on; the touch and Sakusa’s dark eyes. The arousal that had been drowned out by his nerves floods back, and his eyes dip to Sakusa’s mouth briefly, suddenly aching for a kiss.

“I don’t know,” he says after a moment.

Sakusa hums, his other hand lifting to cup the side of Atsumu’s neck. His thumb presses lightly against the bruise he’d left in the hollow of his throat minutes before, and Atsumu’s eyes flutter shut against his will at the ache.

“That’s better,” Sakusa mumbles, and Atsumu doesn’t know if he was supposed to hear it. He opens his eyes slowly, glancing at Sakusa’s mouth again.

“Need a kiss,” he says, before he can think better of it.

“Okay,” Sakusa says simply, and leans in. Atsumu sighs as soon as their mouths touch, parting his lips immediately. It’s a slower kiss than usual, and Atsumu’s focus is split between the press of their lips and the hand rubbing slowly up and down his side. He lifts his arms to drape over Sakusa’s shoulders, scooting a little closer.

Sakusa breaks the kiss after a few minutes, and his eyes are darker than they were before, but still focused on Atsumu’s expression. It makes Atsumu feel hot all over, and this time there’s no urge to hide. The hand that had been on Atsumu’s cheek had moved into his hair, fingers curled in a loose fist, anchoring Atsumu in place.

“What do you need, Atsumu?” Sakusa repeats.

Atsumu shakes his head a little, curling his fingers against Sakusa’s shoulders. “Don’t know.”

“Yes you do.” Sakusa gives his hair a gentle tug. “Focus.”

Atsumu pouts a bit, digging his nails into his back in retaliation. “I dunno, Omi.” He scoots a little closer; he hadn’t noticed himself hooking his legs over Sakusa’s still-crossed legs, but at this point he’s nearly in his lap, and the sudden thought of riding Sakusa makes him let out a literal _whine._ Sakusa arches a brow and Atsumu swallows, shifting awkwardly in his lap.

“What are you thinking about?” Sakusa scrapes his nails against his scalp and Atsumu tips his head into the touch.

“About ridin’ ya.” Atsumu swallows, like he can force the words back down, because that was a little too honest. But Sakusa’s hand clenches in his hair, and his eyes move down to his mouth for a split second.

“Not tonight,” he says simply, touch becoming gentle again. “What else?”

Atsumu watches him warily for a moment, waiting to be teased, but when it doesn’t come, he says, “Just- think I really want ya in me, Omi.” He shifts forward a little, going for broke and pulling himself all the way into Sakusa’s lap. The immediate press of Sakusa’s cock, even through his sweatpants, is enough to make him shiver, and from the subtle jerk of Sakusa’s hips beneath him, he’s not the only one affected.

“What else?” Sakusa prompts, hands moving to grip his hips, dragging him closer. A moan stutters out of Atsumu’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“I like- when yer on top of me.” He shifts, carefully grinding down against him. Sakusa doesn’t stop him, so he keeps going, moving in careful little circles that send static shocks up his spine. “You’re- bigger’n me, and not many people are, so-”

“Do I make you feel little?” Sakusa murmurs, head tipped back a bit to look at him.

“ _Yes._ ” Atsumu drops his head down, pressing his forehead against Sakusa. “Don’t get- a big head, yer only a little bit taller’n me, so-”

Sakusa tips his head up and kisses him, cutting him off. It’s not quite as gentle as before and Atsumu moans into it, burying his hands into Sakusa’s hair eagerly. When Sakusa pulls away, he has to bite back a whine.

“What else, Atsumu?” Sakusa murmurs, and there’s a frantic thread in his voice that makes heat pool low in Atsumu’s stomach, and he might be getting closer than he wants to right now, but-

“I like when ya pin me down, and when ya- talk to me, too. My name sounds- real good, in yer mouth-” Atsumu can’t resist the urge to kiss him again, and this time he _does_ whine when Sakusa pulls away.

“I can do that,” Sakusa says, hands going tight against his hips. “But you have to get yourself ready for me first. I can’t-”

Atsumu feels oddly bereft at the thought of not touching him anymore. It’s a weird duality in his mind, one half of him _eager_ to spread out and put on a show for Sakusa and the other half- it’s _too_ vulnerable, too one sided. It makes the lingering nerves flare to life in his chest, and he doesn’t know if he _can._

“I dunno if I can, Omi, I don’t-” He shifts closer, grinding down against him restlessly. Why can’t Sakusa just fuck into him like this? Maybe if he goes slow enough-

“Why not?” Sakusa’s hands slide up his back, broad paths of heat that make him shiver and pull his focus back.

“Too-” He can’t say vulnerable, can’t be that- _that_ honest. “Exposed.” Not great, but better.

“Can I help?” Sakusa tips his head forward, pressing his lips lightly against the bruise on Atsumu’s neck.

“Jus’ be nice to me,” Atsumu blurts, and feels his face practically catch on fire. He wants to pull the words back. It’s _embarrassing_ , they aren’t nice to each other, it’s not their _thing-_

Sakusa lifts his head, staring up at him, and hysterically, Atsumu notices the way his eyelashes touch his cheek when he blinks, and thinks _beautiful._

“You want me to be nice?” Sakusa asks finally. Atsumu can’t hear anything in his tone, can’t tell if he’s confused or cool with it or maybe even mocking him, and it makes him squirm against his thighs, hands falling away from his shoulders.

“Don’t- don’t be fuckin’ _weird_ about it-”

Sakusa catches his chin in a hand, forcing him to look back down at him. “Want me to talk you through it?” he asks, calm, like that isn’t a question that forces the air out of Atsumu’s lungs.

“Yeah,” he says, and he doesn’t really care that it comes out breathless, arms shooting out to wrap around his shoulders again. “Omi, _yeah,_ I think that-”

“Okay,” Sakusa guides him down into another brief kiss, before pulling away. “Will you lay down for me?”

Atsumu hesitates, and Sakusa kisses him again, before pushing on his chest lightly. Atsumu lowers himself to the bed slowly, legs still hooked over Sakusa’s lap. The angle is a little awkward, but the stretch eases quickly and Atsumu has never been more grateful for his training.

Sakusa guides his body until Atsumu is laying spread open in his lap. He strokes his hands slowly over the sprawl of his legs, nails dragging against the delicate skin of his inner thighs. He still feels too exposed, uneasy, _nervous,_ but he’s excited too. He wants Sakusa, wants to _feel_ him- wants to make it as good for Sakusa as Sakusa is trying to make it for _him._

Atsumu sits up, just a bit, just enough to grab the lube from where Sakusa had abandoned it on the sheets. He spreads his legs a little more and bites his lip when Sakusa’s eyes move down. He ignores the tremble in his hands as he opens the lube and coats his fingers, rubbing it around in an attempt to warm it up. He’s nervous, but it’s kind of now or never, so he reaches down and rubs a slick finger against his hole. He closes his eyes to focus on the feeling and ignore the trepidation of what it’s _leading_ to and-

“That’s it,” Sakusa says quietly, and it echoes in Atsumu’s head. Sakusa hands slide down his thighs and beneath him to cup his ass, spreading his cheeks. It makes the reach a bit easier, and Atsumu lets out a breath, pressing just the tip of one finger in. He’s still tense, and he can’t focus too much on Sakusa’s touch or he’s going to fuck up what he’s doing with his hands and this is _frustrating._

“You look-” Sakusa pauses mid-sentence, and Atsumu peels his eyes open, looking up at him. Sakusa’s eyes are on his body, on the place where Atsumu’s fingers are spreading lube and delicately teasing his rim. His flush has spread from his cheeks down his chest.

“What?” Atsumu manages.

“You look gorgeous,” Sakusa says, glancing up at him briefly.

The praise goes straight to his head, and he arches just a little, pressing into his own touch. He slips his index finger in, just halfway, and shudders at the feeling. “You think I’m pretty, Omi?”

“Like this, yes.” Sakusa squeezes his ass, kneading at the muscle, and Atsumu carefully presses the rest of his finger in, letting out a low moan. He curls his finger, searching for the spot he _knows_ feels good, but the angle is different from at home, and he can’t quite get there. He arches his back a bit more and pumps his finger carefully. 

He watches Sakusa watch him. He feels like he’s on display, and knowing that Sakusa thinks he looks _good_ like this makes it easier to take. It makes him want to _perform._ So he shifts a second finger in a little sooner than he maybe should, shoulders flinching up a bit at the stretch. He scissors them carefully, sinking back to the mattress, thighs trembling. “ _Omi._ ”

“That’s good, Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs. “Don’t rush. I want you to feel good.”

“Feels good,” Atsumu mumbles. “‘S just weird, can’t…”

Sakusa’s eyes flicker up to his face and Atsumu arches a bit, making a muted noise at the attention. He rubs his rim with his thumb clumsily, begging his body to relax just a bit faster.

“Can’t?” Sakusa hands slide back up his thighs and Atsumu squeezes his eyes closed, body clenching around his fingers.

“Mm… reach.” He shifts a bit more, curling his fingers again. It’s almost right, and there’s a dull wave of pleasure that makes him let out a choked moan. “Almost-”

“Shh.” Sakusa’s hand slides up to his side, stroking over his ribs and Atsumu hums, lifting his body into the touch. “Slow.”

“Never done this- in front of anyone-” Atsumu bites his lip and closes his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. It’s not a fucking race, Sakusa isn’t going anywhere. He scissors his fingers carefully, rocking his hips into the touch. The faint burn is fading, and Atsumu tries his best not to focus on it. Instead, he focuses on Sakusa’s warm hands. He thinks about his long, powerful fingers and his hyper flexible wrists, and pretends that those are the fingers inside of him.

It’s an easy fantasy to fall into, since he’s been imagining how it would feel for weeks. He lets out a shaky sigh, and feels the moment his body gives in, how his muscles clench around his slick fingers every time he pulls them out. Fitting a third finger is so much easier than the second, and he shivers at the pleasant stretch.

Sakusa’s silent, quiet enough that it’s pulling Atsumu out of it a little, but when he manages to force his eyes open, his breath catches on a moan. Sakusa is watching him work again, lips parted. His hands have gone still against Atsumu’s hips. He’s _riveted_ , that’s the word for it. He’s watching Atsumu work himself open like it’s some sort of miracle, and Atsumu feels- _wanted._

His fingers are moving easily, sliding in and out with a messy, lewd sound in the otherwise silent room. It feels glorious now, the way it feels when he’s alone, but amplified under the gaze of a captive audience. His body feels _hungry_ under his touch, and he realizes with a jolt that he’s _ready._ He’s more than ready.

“Omi-” Atsumu curls his fingers and moans, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “Hey- I’m- I’m ready, can we-”

“Are you sure?” Sakusa squeezes his hips, eyes breaking away from Atsumu’s body to meet his gaze again.

“Really fuckin’ sure.” Atsumu huffs a laugh, dizzy with it. “Oh, fuck, Omi- _really_ sure.”

Sakusa doesn’t do anything for a moment. Atsumu watches the clench and release of his throat as he swallows, the way his shoulders go tense, the barely-there crinkle of his eyebrows. Hesitating. 

Atsumu slides his fingers out and winces a bit at the loss. He wipes them against the comforter. “C’mon, Omi. Yer ready too, yeah?”

Sakusa’s eyes are one him again, and Atsumu feels himself flush, deeply aware of the way his body is trying to clench around nothing. One of Sakusa’s hands slides away from his hip, and Atsumu sinks his teeth into his lip to block a moan when Sakusa’s thumb drags across his entrance, spreading the excess lube.

“Yeah,” Sakusa says after a moment, voice cracking in a way that should be hilarious but is ultimately very, very flattering.

It takes them a moment to shift around. Sakusa has to stand to shed his pants and grab the condoms, and Atsumu scoots up on the bed to give them a little more space. Sakusa rolls the condom on himself, batting away Atsumu’s hands when he tries to reach out to help. He spreads lube over himself in three cursory strokes, and Atsumu doesn’t think he’s imagining the delicate tremble of his hand.

Then, finally, Atsumu has his legs around Sakusa. Sakusa’s weight is balanced on one arm beside Atsumu’s shoulder, and his head is bowed, and he’s guiding himself carefully to Atsumu’s entrance. Just the pressure of the head of his cock has Atsumu breathing funny, nerves absolutely gone and replaced entirely with anticipation.

Sakusa looks up at him again, stilling. His cheeks are so pink, and his eyes are almost glassy with arousal. Atsumu can still see the tension in his body, and it’s a type of tension he's never seen in Sakusa’s body before, but he recognizes it well. He knows how it feels to be so, so close to sinking into a warm body. To want nothing more than to bury yourself in someone, and feel that incomparable _heat._

And Sakusa doesn’t even know what it’s like yet.

“Okay?” Sakusa asks, voice tight.

Atsumu feels- _something_ in his chest, tight and hot and unfamiliar. He can’t look away. He lifts his hands to Sakusa’s face, brushing his curls back in a motion reminiscent of Sakusa’s tender touch from minutes or hours before.

“Yeah, Omi,” he whispers.

“Tell me if I hurt you?” Sakusa adds, and it might be an order and might be a question, but regardless, the feeling in Atsumu’s chest grows, and there’s some kind of emotion building in him that makes him feel a little bit like crying.

“Yer not gonna.” Atsumu tips his head up, kissing him briefly. “Yer gonna make me feel s’good, Omi.”

Sakusa’s shoulders shake, and his eyes close for a split second. “Just tell me if I do.”

“Okay,” Atsumu agrees, and inexplicably, he’s reminded of Osamu saying _someone’s gonna treat ya good,_ and then Sakusa is pressing in and he can’t think about anything at all.

The pressure is almost too much for a moment, and Atsumu has to force himself to drag in a breath and relax- and then the worst of the stretch is over, and Sakusa slides into him in one smooth, slow thrust, and Atsumu twists his head back against the sheets, opening his mouth in a rough gasp.

He can feel the way Sakusa is trembling. He’s pressed as deep as he can go, holding still so- so Atsumu can adjust. Atsumu shudders because it’s so fucking _thoughtful._ He can’t remember a single time he’s fucked someone with half as much care, and it’s so ridiculously measured and fastidious and _Omi_ that he wants to scream.

Instead, he shifts his hips, rocking against him as much as the position allows. It punches a short breath out of Sakusa that Atsumu feels against his cheek and he can’t resist a grin, opening his eyes to catch his expression. It doesn’t disappoint; his eyebrows are drawn together and his eyes are screwed shut, but his mouth is open in a soft _oh_ , and his chest is almost still. He’s holding his breath, restraining himself against the instinct to _move_ and Atsumu thinks he might remember this exact moment for the rest of his life.

“Omi-kun,” he breaths, and lets himself grin again when Sakusa’s eyes flutter open, another harsh breath escaping his mouth. Atsumu combs his fingers back into Sakusa’s hair, and rocks his hips again with a purposeful moan. “Y’can move.”

Sakusa’s head drops forward against his shoulder and it’s like his entire body releases at once. He sucks in a sharp breath and pulls back, thrusting into Atsumu sharply enough to startle a whimper out of him. He stutters into rhythm, mouth pressed against Atsumu’s throat to muffle his sounds.

It feels- Atsumu hadn’t really realized it would feel like this. It’s so _much_ and so deep, and it’s easy to lift his hips and meet Sakusa’s thrusts. It’s not a feeling he could ever replicate with his hands, the way Sakusa drags over the exact right spot to make sparks shoot up Atsumu’s spine, again and again and _again_ , until Atsumu can’t really gather a cohesive thought. He knows he’s being loud, because he can’t for the life of him close his mouth and each thrust makes him moan or whimper.

He doesn’t realize half of the noises he’s making are Sakusa’s name until Sakusa says, “God, Atsumu- sound so pretty moaning my name.”

Shame isn’t an emotion Atsumu is that intimately familiar with, but any amount of it he may have had absolutely flies out the window, and he’s babbling before he can think twice.

“Omi, Omi, Omi, feels s’good, _fuck_ -” Atsumu arches up, arms wrapping over Sakusa’s shoulders, scrambling to find something to grab onto. “Y’feel so good, don’t stop, don’t-”

“Not gonna stop,” Sakusa mumbles. He raises up a bit, shifting to get better leverage and Atsumu lets out a stuttered shout when he thrusts again, harder and deeper than before.

“Don’t, don’t-” Atsumu twists his head back against the mattress and keens when Sakusa’s mouth finds the exact spot he’d already left a bruise. It’s so deeply reminiscent of the time at nationals, when Sakusa had taken him back to his hotel room just like this, and Atsumu’s mouth is running before he gives it permission. “Wanted ya to do- _it_ , back then, wanted ya to- _ah_ , fuck me the first ti- _ime_ you kissed me, _Omi-_ ”

Sakusa’s teeth press into his skin, and Atsumu’s toes curl into the sheets hard enough to hurt. He’s hurtling towards the edge and he’s _furious_ because this can’t be over yet, he’s waited so _long-_

“Woulda let ya, woulda let ya fuck me right on the f-floor, ya felt so- good, I knew you’d be- _good-_ ” Atsumu curls his fingers into Sakusa’s hair. He can’t even meet Sakusa’s thrusts anymore. He just has to hold on and let Sakusa make him feel _good._ He’s completely at the mercy of Sakusa's will, but he also knows without a shadow of a doubt that if he said _stop_ Sakusa would, immediately, and it’s a bizarre rush of power that pushes him even closer. One touch to his neglected cock would be enough for him to trip over the finish line, but he doesn’t _want_ it yet. “Tell me- how it, feels, _Omi-_ ” 

Sakusa’s mouth breaks away from his neck and their cheeks knock together briefly and Atsumu wants to kiss him, too, but first he wants to know-

“Fucking _perfect._ ” Sakusa’s mouth is against his ear, and Atsumu whines at the warm-honey feeling of pride that spills over him. “Hot and tight and fucking- just for _me._ ”

The jolt of pleasure at the thought is so intense Atsumu almost forgets to breathe. He drops his arms from around Sakusa’s shoulders to scramble at the sheets, knotting his fingers desperately in the fabric. “ _Omi-_ ”

“You feel- like you want to con… _sume_ me.” Sakusa’s teeth drag over his earlobe and he arches clean off the bed, muscles clenching tight and he’s _right there-_ “Feel desperate for me.”

“Omi, Omi-” Atsumu twists his head back, trying to escape Sakusa’s mouth while also pressing desperately into each thrust. “‘M so close, please-”

“Tell me what- you want.”

Atsumu cracks his eyes open, and he can see it in Sakusa’s body how close he is too, from the tell-tale curl of his shoulders, the uneven rise and fall of his flushed chest. Atsumu doesn’t even know what he wants and when he meets Sakusa’s eyes he lets out a breathy noise that doesn’t sound like him at all and says, “ _Kiss_ me, _please-_ ”

Sakusa’s mouth seals over his and it’s desperate and messy. Atsumu can barely reciprocate because at the same moment Sakusa wraps a hand around him and he’s coming with a whine muffled by Sakusa’s lips. It’s a wave of pleasure that doesn’t stop, because he can _feel_ the way his body is clenching around Sakusa. It’s fucking incredible and _terrifying_ and when he finally starts coming down his whole body is trembling with it. Sakusa has gone still too, and Atsumu shudders at the feeling of his cock twitching inside of him and that’s fucking _amazing,_ he can’t _believe_ he waited this long to feel this-

“Omi...” Atsumu slowly unclenches his hands from the sheet, panting.

Sakusa lifts his head slowly from where he’d burrowed into the crook of Atsumu’s shoulder, and Atsumu feels the shiver of an aftershock when their eyes meet. “Mm?”

“Kiss,” Atsumu demands, tipping his head up slightly. He knows he’s imagining the fond crinkle at the corner of Sakusa’s eyes just before their mouths meet, but he smiles against his lips anyway.

\---

They manage about five minutes of lazy kissing before Sakusa pulls away, discomfort already shaping the curve of his shoulders. He disappears into the bathroom as soon as he ties off the condom, and the shower comes on instantly. Atsumu stays exactly where he is, drifting in and out of a nap despite the growing discomfort of his own release cooling against his chest.

He must actually doze off, because the next thing he knows, Sakusa is waking him up and nudging him towards the shower too. He’s still hazy enough that he doesn’t bicker over it. When he gets out of the shower, his Inarizaki hoodie and a fresh pair of sweatpants are waiting on the counter, and discomfort forms in his chest again. He takes his time getting dressed, putting off facing Sakusa.

Because that had all felt- different. Atsumu can’t count the number of things he let slip out that he wishes he hadn’t. He and Sakusa aren’t friends, and they’re lovers only in the most literal sense. Being so _open_ was crossing a line, or erasing the line all together, because now it feels like, maybe, the sex _meant_ something.

Atsumu feels like it meant something. To him.

He pauses while toweling his hair, and slowly looks at himself in the fogged mirror. His lips are still a little puffy and he’s flushed from the shower, and the love bite on his neck is angry and _large_ and the sight of it makes excitement swoop in his stomach.

He slaps a hand against his forehead and closes his eyes with a groan. “Fucking _moron._ ”

He likes him. He _likes_ him, and this is an unmitigated _disaster._

They’ve never done anything to define what they’re doing, but it very clearly isn’t something beyond sex. They don’t text, they don’t reach out, they just bump into each other and stumble into bed, and then pretend it didn’t happen until it happens _again._

If it happens again. Maybe it won’t, and maybe it shouldn’t.

He claps a hand against his cheek and glares at his reflection sternly. “Don’t think about it,” he orders. “Focus.”

He sorts out his hair with a stolen squeeze of Sakusa’s hair gel, straightens his shoulders, points at himself in the mirror one last time, and strolls back into the hotel room with a lazy grin.

“Omi~”

“Here.” Sakusa tosses a bottle of water at him as soon as he rounds the corner and Atsumu fumbles to catch it with a yelp.

“Gimme a little warning!” Atsumu shoots him a glare and rips the cap off anyway, taking a grateful sip.

“Oh? Are your reflexes that bad?” Sakusa asks mildly. He looks down, pulling open a bag of chips. He’s sitting criss-cross on his bed, the comforter removed and piled neatly in the corner of the room.

“Fuck you.” Atsumu flops on the bed beside him, leaning over to peek at the snacks piled by his knee. “Sharing?”

“No,” Sakusa says flatly, and shoves a second package of chips at him.

“Oooh, pizza flavor.” Atsumu tugs them open, tipping his head back to pour a serving straight into his mouth. It’s worth it for the disgusted crinkle between Sakusa’s eyes. Atsumu hadn’t actually realized how hungry he was, and polishes off the whole bag and a sleeve of hi-chew.

“Are you returning to Osaka tomorrow?” Sakusa asks after a few minutes of quiet snacking. 

“Yep.” Atsumu finishes his water and sprawls back on the bed with a sigh. “We’re leavin’ in the afternoon, I think. ‘Samu wanted to spend the day here. Probably still out drinkin’ with Suna and them.”

Sakusa doesn’t respond, and when Atsumu peels open an eye, Sakusa is staring at him, clearly annoyed.

“What?” Atsumu wrinkles his nose.

“Don’t get comfortable.”

Atsumu arches a brow and pointedly stretches out across the streets with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “But it’s a _nice_ bed. I gotta sleep on the couch when I go back.”

“Not my problem.” Sakusa gathers their snack trash into the konbini bag and tosses it onto the bedside table before laying back beside him, eyes on the ceiling. Atsumu watches him, and ignores the way his heart beats just a bit too fast.

“Are you okay?” Sakusa asks after a moment. He doesn’t move, still staring at the space above the bed, his hands neatly folded over his stomach.

“Hmm?” Atsumu blinks, drawing himself out of his thoughts. “What do ya mean?”

Sakusa lets out a sigh, heavy eyelids dropping closed. “Atsumu.”

Getting an _Atsumu_ outside of a sexual context is rare enough for a flush to rise in his cheeks, and he turns his head away to look at the ceiling too. “Oh.” It comes out squeakier than he’d like, so he pauses to clear his throat. “Yeah, ‘m fine. A little- achy, I guess? Doesn’t hurt though. Just…” Empty, is what he wants to say, so he compromises with, “Dull, sorta. It’s not bad.”

He hears Sakusa sigh, and resists the urge to look at him. “Okay,” he murmurs, and he sounds almost relieved.

Atsumu should let it go. But he’s got historically terrible impulse control when it comes to Sakusa, and he’s turning his head with a lazy grin before he can tell himself it’s a bad idea. “Ooh? Was Omi worried he hurt me?”

Sakusa’s head tips to the side, too, gaze flat and face completely relaxed. “I was hoping,” he says, and it’s an absolute lie.

“No ya weren’t.” Atsumu’s grin widens, and he rolls onto his side. “Were ya worried I couldn’t take yer monster dick?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, mouth twitching before pressing into a flat line. “Only because you were _scared_ of it.”

Atsumu slaps his arm thoughtlessly, huffing. “I was not _scared._ ”

“Omi, I _can’t_ ,” Sakusa drawls.

“No- no, no, no-” Atsumu feels himself flush, and tries to glare anyway. “Don’t even. If anyone was scared, it was _you._ ”

Sakusa’s brow shoots up. “You’re insane.”

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Atsumu mocks, raising his voice in a purposefully poor imitation of Sakusa’s tone.

“I was trying to be _nice._ Like you asked.” Sakusa rolls his eyes again, but there’s a faint blush, high in his cheeks, barely there.

“Ha! You’re _embarrassed._ ” Atsumu shifts, before he can overthink it, and rolls on top of Sakusa, bracing his hands against his chest. Sakusa barely reacts, other than to glare up at him, hands still folded against his stomach.

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“I think ya are.” Atsumu leans down, reaching up to tap the apple of his cheek with one finger. Sakusa’s hand shoots up to catch his wrist, tugging his hand away. “Yer blushin’, Omi.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes and releases his hand. “Get off of me and go home.”

“Fine.” Atsumu shifts, dropping down to brace himself on his forearms over Sakusa with a lazy smile. “Aren’t ya gonna give me a goodnight kiss?”

“Your breath is terrible. Get off.”

Atsumu would, if Sakusa actually looked uncomfortable. But he’s just watching Atsumu calmly, body relaxed against the bed beneath him. Atsumu sucks in a breath, and actually realizes what he’s doing and didn’t he _just_ give himself a pep-talk about _not_ doing something like this-

“Yer mean, Omi,” he says, on autopilot, too distracted by the delicate fan of Sakusa’s eyelashes to come up with anything clever.

“So you’ve said.” Sakusa hands raise to grip Atsumu’s sides and he sits up, forcing Atsumu to sit up with him, until Atsumu is perched in his lap.

“Are ya goin’ back to Tokyo tomorrow?” Atsumu asks after a moment, hands settling lightly on Sakusa’s shoulders. He figures, what the fuck. Who knows when he’ll see Sakusa again, _if_ he’ll see him like this again- might as well go for it.

“No.” Sakusa’s hands are still on his sides, fingers bunched in the excess fabric of his hoodie. “Motoya is off for the week. We’re going to see our family for a few days.”

Atsumu nods, glancing down at Sakusa’s mouth for a split second. “That’ll be fun.”

“Not really.”

They sit there for a long moment, and Atsumu lets himself look. Sakusa is staring back at him, anyway, so it’s not like he’s being a creep.

He feels kind of- stupid, for not realizing it any sooner. He’d known back at nationals, hadn’t he? That he had a crush on Sakusa? Probably for a long time, but- Atsumu doesn’t really think about relationships so much. Volleyball is what’s important, and it’s been the most important thing other than his family since he was a child. He had crushes, sure, and he’s- tactile. He’s always liked sex and kissing, and he still thinks he was basically in love with Kita in second year.

He’s stupid for not realizing sooner that the bizarre clenching in his chest is _fondness_ and he’s stupider for indulguing himself now. But he shifts forward anyway, looping his arms over Sakusa’s shoulders.

“I should try and beat ‘em back to the apartment,” he says quietly. He’s close enough to feel Sakusa’s breath against his cheek, and he hates the way it makes that feeling in his chest stir.

“Go, then,” Sakusa says. He tips his head up slightly, and his lips are so close Atsumu can practically taste them.

“I’m goin’.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“I told ya.” Atsumu scrapes his nails gently against Sakusa’s undercut, tipping his head just a bit closer. “Kiss.”

“I told _you._ You smell terrible.” Sakusa’s hands press against his sides and Atsumu shifts closer in his lap.

“Kiss,” he repeats, and flashes a grin when Sakusa rolls his eyes.

He’s not really expecting it when Sakusa tips his head at the last second, mouth pressing against his cheek in a brief kiss that inexplicably makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“ _Omi-_ ”

Sakusa slaps his hands against his thighs, then gives him a shove. “Get out. I’m tired.”

Atsumu shifts out of his lap, glowering. “Yer a tease.”

Sakusa shifts to his feet with a smirk, and gestures towards the door silently. He follows Atsumu to the genkan and leans against the wall while he puts on his shoes. He opens the door for him when he’s ready, and Atsumu folds his jeans awkwardly over his arm, shifting his feet.

“Ya know,” he says after a moment, then stops himself. _Stupid._

Sakusa raises a brow, arms crossed. “Spit it out, Miya.”

 _Miya._ Atsumu swallows and grins lazily, changing course. “Ya know, I really do think Komori-kun got the better personality-”

Sakusa rolls his eyes and steps back, swinging the door shut in his face.

\---

Atsumu wakes up to someone touching his forehead. He bats at the touch with a disgruntled sniffle, peeling open his eyes. “Wha-”

Suna and Osamu are both crouched by the couch, staring at him boredly. Osamu retracts his hand, and turns his head to Suna with a thoughtful hum. “No fever.”

“No fever, but.” Suna reaches out and pokes the bruise on Atsumu’s throat. He’s still half asleep, reflexes too slow to evade the touch.

“Ow,” he whines, tugging the blankets up. “Leave me alone-”

“So ya _weren’t_ sick.” Osamu narrows his eyes at him, and gives the blanket a firm tug, yanking it out of his hands and off of his body.

Atsumu makes a wounded noise and curls up tighter, glaring at them. His brain is still sluggish, but the reminder of the night before is enough to make him grasp at consciousness, rubbing his fists against his eyes to dispel sleep. “I told ya I was tired!”

“Ya acted like you were sick. I was _worried-_ ” The word is punctuated with a sharp smack with a pillow. “-moron.”

Atsumu squawks, and scrambles to sit upright and avoid any further attack. “Funny way t’show it!”

“Nice hickey,” Suna says, brows raised.

“ _Thanks._ ” Atsumu tugs up his hood to cover it, scowling. “How’re you two even awake? I got back after one and you were still out.”

“He didn’t get back until after _one_ ,” Suna muses, looking at Osamu.

Osamu hums, nodding at him thoughtfully. “So he’s a liar _and_ he coulda partied with us.”

“What an asshole. I hope the sex was terrible.”

“Knowin’ him? Probably.”

“Okay,” Atsumu interrupts, kicking out at Osamu roughly. Suna knocks his leg away with a snicker. “I’m _right_ here, ya know.”

“Can’t trust a word outta yer mouth, so why ask ya?”

“I’ll have you _know._ ” Atsumu sits forward, leaning nose-to-nose with his brother, before breaking into a grin. “ _I_ got fucked last night.”

The startled look on Osamu’s face is totally worth the reveal. “Ya didn’t.”

“Who cares?” Suna sits back on the carpet, crossing his legs.

“He’s never been fucked,” Osamu explains, wide eyes still on Atsumu.

“So _that’s_ what’s wrong with him,” Suna muses, and Atsumu swats at his shoulder without looking away from his brother.

“Ya really did, ‘Tsumu?” Osamu asks, and Atsumu relaxes back into the couch with an easy smile and a shrug.

“Yep.”

“How’s yer ass?”

Atsumu snorts, and sways in place with a thoughtful hum. “Feels good to me.”

“Who was it?” Suna asks. He loops an arm around Osamu, dragging him back to sit on his lap, and Osamu goes without complaint.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Atsumu grins, dropping his chin into his palm with an elbow resting on his knee.

“It wasn’t Komori, he was with us.” Suna narrows his eyes, chin hooked over Osamu’s shoulder.

“Ya didn’t let some stranger fuck ya, did ya?” Osamu’s nose crinkles, mouth pressed into an uncomfortable line.

“Guess ya were wrong about me needin’ to like ‘em.” Atsumu forces his grin wider, ignoring the uncomfortable lurch in his stomach at the lie. “Ya got any food, Sunarin? I’m starvin’.”

“‘Samu said he would cook breakfast.” Suna turns his head, kissing Osamu’s ear. Atsumu takes note of the way his arms flex around his brother, and the way Osamu’s eyes turn to the side, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Right?”

“I ain’t cookin’ for him.” Osamu pushes himself to his feet, escaping Suna’s hold. “What do ya want, Rin?”

“Omurice.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Atsumu twists on the couch, lurching over the back to follow his brother. “Wait, ‘Samu, me too!”

“Liars don’t eat.”

\---

After breakfast (where Osamu did cave and cook for Atsumu as well, spelling _liar_ in ketchup across the top of his eggs), the three of them spend the day sprawled in a gangly pile on the couch. There’s something playing on the television, but they ignore it to talk instead. Osamu updates them on his progress at the restaurant ( _“I don’t think I can learn much else there, if I’m honest”_ ), Suna updates Atsumu on league gossip ( _“Did you know the Adlers are recruiting Tobio-kun?” “No fuckin’ way!”_ ), and they generally shoot the shit.

Atsumu had kind of forgotten how nice it is to just be with them. Very few people know him better than Suna or ‘Samu (and maybe Aran- Aran has known them since they were so small it’s sort of impossible he hasn’t learned everything about them). He doesn’t have to guard himself, he doesn’t have to play pretend. He can just exist.

He’s as reticent to leave that afternoon as Osamu. They’ve pushed off their return to Osaka as late as possible, but there’s only one train left before they stop for the night, and Atsumu is expected at practice early the next morning. Suna agrees to walk them, on the condition that Atsumu buy him a bag of gummies on the way.

“Why do _I_ gotta buy ‘em?” Atsumu grumbles when they pop into the exact same konbini he and Sakusa had stopped in the night before. More snacks are dropped on the counter, and he begrudgingly motions for the cashier to ring them up too.

“Because you skipped out on my after party.” Suna ruffles his hair and reaches past him to grab his prize. “To get fucked.”

The cashier turns noticeably red while handing Atsumu his card. Atsumu is sure his color isn’t far off. He smacks Suna in the stomach with a yelp of, “Sunarin!”

Suna walks them all the way to their platform, and when the train rolls in, he gives Atsumu a loose hug, and presses a brief kiss to Osamu’s cheek. They’re all hyper-aware of the eyes around them, and too aware that Suna’s face was local news the night before.

“Miss ya,” Osamu mumbles into Suna’s hug, just loud enough for Atsumu to hear.

“Big baby,” Suna mumbles back. He looks completely unaffected when he pulls away, raising a hand in a final parting salute before the twins trudge onto the train.

They’re both too bummed out to bicker on the ride home, and Atsumu gratefully snuggles into Osamu’s side when he leans into him after they find their seats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> aran is baby and one day i will write a whole fic about Aran's Perfect Day.  
> whipped osamu is my favorite osamu. miya twins being absolute goners for pretty, flexible boys is the mood.  
> i personally love komori's eyebrows and only wish them well, but the twins and suna are catty.  
> i'm so sorry i literally wrote the words "ass virginity" and i'm sorry for doing it again right now.
> 
> [tumblr](https://noodletastic.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/noodletastix)


	4. Chapter 4

Sakusa Kiyoomi has an instagram.

This shouldn’t be shocking. He’s nineteen years old, he’s hot, why _wouldn’t_ he? And even though it makes sense, Atsumu still feels a little bit like he’s hallucinating when he finds _sakkiyo_ as a recommended account after adding Komori on a whim.

He only has three posts. The first one is a group shot of the Itachiyama team from Sakusa’s third year. Sakusa is in the front, with his collar zipped up and his mouth tilted down, his hair a ruffled mop of curls. Komori is right beside him with a huge grin, a ball tucked under one arm and his other hand lifted in a peace sign. The caption says _@kokomo insisted that I create an account._

Atsumu stares at it for longer than necessary. He wonders if this was taken before or after nationals, before or after they had kissed for the first time, before or after their mutual loss had led them to making a stupid, sexy mistake. He decides it was before, based purely on gut instinct.

The second photo is of Sakusa in his maroon college jersey. He’s suspended in the air, body bent at an extreme angle, his wrist disturbingly far backwards. His eyes are wide and focused, his delicate mouth pressed into a purse. One of his curls is plastered to his forehead by his sweat. The photo makes Atsumu’s heart race, and when he brushes his thumb along the curve of Sakusa’s back, he’s careful not to like the photo. He recognizes that look- that hunger. He’s seen it on Sakusa’s face before, of course, but he’s seen it on his own too. The caption is just a camera emoji with the tag for his university paper.

The third photo is from the weekend of Komori and Suna’s debut, posted late that Sunday. It’s Komori and Sakusa on a train. Sakusa is bundled deep in his leather jacket and a pale pink sweatshirt, his mask covering the majority of his obviously displeased expression. Komori is the one taking the photo, leaning into Sakusa’s space without actually touching him, mouth open in a vibrant grin, his apparently signature peace sign up. The caption says _family vay-cay!_ A comment from minutes after it was posted, from _@sakkiyo: Please don’t trust @kokomo with your phone._

It’s obviously from the day after the game. The day after Atsumu had gone back to his hotel with him. Atsumu spends more time staring at it than any of the other photos. He’s looking for any clue that maybe Sakusa feels something too. He doesn’t know what he expects to see, but he looks anyway.

He’s maybe spiraling. He’s maybe lost it, completely, because all he’s been able to think about for the last week is _Omi, Omi, Omi._ Sakusa saying _you look gorgeous,_ Sakusa saying _you feel perfect,_ Sakusa saying _feel desperate for me,_ Sakusa saying _Atsumu._

It takes two days for Atsumu to write off the odd feeling in his chest as post-sex hormones. Atsumu knows he has a bad habit of _overcommitting._ It doesn’t take much for him to get a crush, it just hasn’t ever been this… intense, before. And the only reason it feels so different, feels like so much, has got to be because they fucked. Because of some kind of dumb attachment hormones that some people have that make them weepy and clingy and- _desperate._

Atsumu does feel desperate for Sakusa, still, days later, staring at the same three pictures like it will somehow help. Double checking his thread with Sakusa like suddenly something will appear, or like maybe there’s a message waiting he just didn’t get an alert for. Searching Sakusa’s name on his school website to find any articles about him, maybe find another picture of him playing (he doesn’t find any). Hoping that some amount of exposure will do the trick and remind him that, actually, Sakusa is an asshole and if his brain could stop producing oxytocin every time he so much as thinks about thinking about him, that would be _awesome._

By the following Monday, he’s frustrated enough to open a dating app and begin the search for a palate cleanser. He needs Sakusa _gone,_ out of his head and out of his _way_ because this stupid- _whatever_ it is has started effecting him on the court. He’s distracted and he’s too close to being a starter to fuck it up and let some other bullshit setter swoop in and take his place.

He doesn’t meet up with anyone else. 

He tries going to sleep earlier. He tries forcing himself to do pushups every time he thinks about anything related to Sakusa, until he’s too tired to remember what he’d been thinking about in the first place. He tries meditating with Bokuto in the morning before practice. 

It helps. By Friday, he feels almost normal again. He only checked his messages once during their lunch break, and wasn’t even that upset when their last message from nearly six months ago was still staring back at him from the end of their thread. Coach Foster has stopped sending him concerned glances and Meian had patted him on the back for a job well-done after practice.

He stays late in the weight room with Bokuto, and they’re both getting dressed when Atsumu’s phone chimes in his locker. Atsumu ignores it. He’s been ignoring Osamu’s messages all day, because despite living apart, it’s still Atsumu’s responsibility to annoy the absolute shit out of him.

“Akaashi is in town,” Bokuto says. He’s looking at himself in his locker mirror, guiding his nearly-dry hair up into its usual spikes with a liberal application of gel. “But he says he wants to see you, too, so if you wanna come to dinner, he says you can!”

“Wow, what a warm invitation,” Atsumu says, carefully checking over each of his fingernails. He files down one that’s gotten a bit too long. “I feel loved. Cherished, even-”

“I don’t know why you don’t like Akaashi, ‘Tsum-’Tsum,” Bokuto whines, glancing over with too-large eyes. “He likes you!”

“He likes Osamu.” Atsumu snorts and turns to look in his own mirror, picking up his tub of pomade to begin twisting his bangs into place. “And ya know I like him fine, Bokkun, it’s a joke, ya know? He beat me at my last nationals. Gotta keep up appearances.”

Bokuto makes a happy noise that usually means he’s got that stupid I-Love-Akaashi expression on his face. “Akaashi is just a really good setter!” When Atsumu cuts him a glance, Bokuto immediately begins waving his hands, half of his hair still drooping into his face. “You’re good too!”

“I’m not _good._ I’m _amazing,_ ” Atsumu corrects.

“You’re amazing! Your tosses are great!” 

“Damn right.” Atsumu shakes his head, turning his head to check his hair. Good enough. “I’m gonna skip dinner anyway. I got leftovers in the fridge. Take ‘im on a good date.”

“Are you sure?” Bokuto slams his locker shut and shrugs on his jacket. “We’re just getting ramen.”

“Positive.” Atsumu pulls on his shirt and closes his locker too, giving him a lazy smile. “Don’t wanna cockblock ya anyway.” The glimmer in Bokuto’s eyes is devilish and Atsumu snorts a laugh, knocking their shoulders together roughly. “Go get ‘im.”

Bokuto wraps an arm around his shoulders, steering him out of the locker room. “Okay, but text me tomorrow! We’re gonna go to a museum in the morning that Akaashi has been wanting to check out, but we can get lunch!”

“Deal.” Atsumu gives him a last nudge as they exit the gym, and Bokuto splits off towards the train station. “Later, Bokkun!”

“Bye, ‘Tsum-’Tsum!” Bokuto yells with a backwards wave, bag bouncing against his shoulders as he trots off.

Atsumu shakes his head and pulls his phone from his coat pocket at last, since making Osamu wait six hours for a response to _mackerel or swordfish?_ seems long enough.

He nearly drops his phone when, under another alert from Osamu that says _pick a fish, asshole, or don’t come to sunday dinner_ is:

**19:04, Omi-kun**  
_In Osaka. Are you busy?_

So much for almost feeling normal.

He stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk, five minutes from his apartment, and stares at the message. His heart is racing. He can feel himself starting to sweat a little under the collar and he’s sure that his cheeks have gone pink. His fucking hands are trembling with nervous energy, and it’s a little hard to breath.

He puts his phone back in his pocket, bites the sleeve of his hoodie, and _screams._

Then he pulls his phone back out and replies.

**19:33, Miya Atsumu**  
_oooh, do u wanna see me, omi-kun? ;)_

Atsumu puts his phone away and continues his walk, trying to breath through his shock. He’s better than this. He is absolutely better than going nearly nonverbal over someone who barely shows him the time of day. He’s disgusted with himself, he shouldn’t have replied at _all_ , much less with any level of interest-

But Sakusa had never been the first one to reach out. It’s always Atsumu fumbling for his attention. Maybe it means Sakusa has been thinking about him too?

He shakes off the thought, because at _most_ this is Sakusa being as prudent as always and taking advantage of an opportunity to get laid. Because that’s their relationship, at this point. Convenient sex.

He doesn’t get a reply until he’s already made it back to his apartment and settled at his kotatsu with a bowl of reheated yakisoba.

**19:47, Omi-kun**  
_I’m only here for one night. Your choice, Miya._

**19:47, Omi-kun**  
_> >Sakusa Kiyoomi has shared his location_

Atsumu stares at his pin for the rest of his meal, eating as slowly as possible.

Advantages of accepting Sakusa’s offer: sex, getting to see his stupid face in person, opportunity to evaluate and decide if Sakusa _also_ has any disgusting feelings, opportunity to discover if he actually _likes_ Sakusa or if it really is just his sex hormones all wonky from the, ya know, sex.

Disadvantages: seeing his stupid face in person, opportunity to discover that Sakusa does _not_ have any disgusting feelings, accidentally liking Sakusa _more_ than he thought, and having sex and effectively fucking up his hormones all over again when he was just maybe starting to equal out again.

 _Sex_ seems to be the deciding factor, because as soon as he’s washed his bowl and straightened up his kitchen, he responds.

20:04, Miya Atsumu  
what time??

Atsumu hops in the shower as soon as it’s sent, even though he had just taken one after practice. He needs to calm the fuck down, and he figures if he doesn’t show up looking like he’d just taken a shower, Sakusa will probably make him take another one anyway. By the time he’s finished, applied his best lotion, completed a full skin-care routine, and gotten dressed in jeans and a sweater that gives off the _yeah I look hot, but not like a try-hard_ vibe, he’s half-convinced himself to back out of the whole, stupid thing.

But there’s a reply waiting when he picks up his phone.

**20:08, Omi-kun**  
_Whenever. Just tell me when you’re on the way._

Atsumu lets out a breath, and accepts the fact that he’ll just need to start making better choices tomorrow.

\---

Sakusa opens his door in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He steps out of the way without a word, and Atsumu steps inside with a faux-shocked expression.

“Omi,” he says gravely, “Brushing yer teeth is a _bathroom_ activity. You can’t just walk to yer door with yer toothbrush.”

“I’m going to spit on you,” Sakusa says, before disappearing into the bathroom. 

It’s depressing that the thought isn’t necessarily a turn _off._

Atsumu follows him as soon as his shoes are off, waiting patiently for Sakusa to rinse his mouth before taking his place at the sink to wash his hands. “What’re you in town for?”

“Volleyball,” Sakusa says. He picks up a travel sized bottle of mouthwash and takes a swig, cheeks bulging out as he swishes the liquid around.

Atsumu wrinkles his nose at him in the mirror. “Are you one of those psychos who can do that for the whole thirty second?” he asks, _seven, eight, nine, ten-_

Sakusa doesn’t answer until a full thirty seconds have passed. He nudges him away from the sink with one elbow, leaning down to spit. He flashes his teeth at himself in the mirror, before glancing over at Atsumu. “I find it concerning that you believe you _can’t._ ”

“I mean, I can. It just burns like fuck.” Atsumu rubs his hands dry on the nearest hand towel.

Sakusa arches a brow, leaning his hip against the counter. “You’re telling me you don’t like pain?”

Atsumu ignores the heat at the nape of his neck and swiftly changes the subject. “You had a game today?”

“We finished up an hour ago.” Sakusa turns away from him to wander back into the bedroom. Atsumu follows.

“Did ya win?”

Sakusa sits on the end of his bed, reclining back on his hands. And the look in his eyes is too familiar; it’s that dark look, that black hole stare that draws Atsumu in without exception. He tips his head and Atsumu steps towards him without thinking, hovering a few feet away. Sakusa’s lips curl up in an easy smirk, and he says, “What do you think?”

“I dunno, Omi-Omi. Maybe yer team sucks.” He knows their team doesn’t suck. He studied their stats while he was searching for photos of Sakusa, but best not to let him know about _that._ Atsumu is already too fucking deep anyway. His heart is beating a mile a minute and they haven’t even gotten past small talk. He also has the distinct feeling that he’s being _seduced._

“We won,” Sakusa says, and he hasn’t looked away or moved an inch.

“Ah. Congrats,” Atsumu manages, annoyed by how breathless his voice already is. This was absolutely a bad idea. He feels wrong-footed and powerless and-

“Come here, Atsumu.”

Atsumu lets out an unintentional sigh of relief and steps forward, climbing directly into Sakusa’s lap. He drapes his arms over his shoulders and gives him a lazy grin, doing his best to mask his own excitement. “Are ya claimin’ me as yer prize, Omi-kun?”

“Would you like that?” Sakusa muses. His hands are still on the bed behind him, and his expression is utterly unreadable.

“I think it’s why ya texted me.” Atsumu shifts a little closer, fingers tangling loosely in Sakusa’s hair. “I think ya won, and yer blood was pumpin’, and ya realized I was somewhere nearby. And ya remembered how good I feel.”

Sakusa’s hands resting on his thighs feels like a small victory. “And I knew you’d come running.”

Two things happen at once inside Atsumu. 

First, every little insecurity about his non-relationship with Sakusa comes rushing up at once. Sakusa sees it, Sakusa _knows_ Atsumu is desperate for him, Sakusa has him totally figured out, and Sakusa is using him and playing on that weakness for his own gain. It’s pathetic, Atsumu is _pathetic._ He can’t stand himself. He should figure out a way to escape and get out of here before he lets this happen. Before this gets any worse. He’s balanced on the cliff’s edge as it is.

Second is the arousal, and it’s all the same feelings but just to the left. Sakusa knows he’s desperate for him and he _likes_ it. He texted Atsumu because he _knew_ Atsumu would say yes and he knew he’d be able to touch him, kiss him, fuck him, all because Atsumu would _come running._ It’s humiliating, to have someone know that he wants them. But there’s also something deeply pleasing about the fact that Sakusa knew all he had to do was say the word and Atsumu would be there. Because Sakusa wants him too.

There are two ways to respond. In the space of a second, Atsumu chooses option two. Why run when you’re already where you want to be?

He sinks down on Sakusa’s lap, dragging his teeth over his own lower lip with a thoughtful hum. “I can go, if ya want. It was real polite of you to reach out, but I’m sure ya just want to be alone.”

“Do whatever you want.” Sakusa hands squeeze his thighs, head tipping back a bit to look up at him properly. “I don’t need you here.”

It’s a lie. Well, close to one.

“Ya don’t need me, Omi.” Atsumu smiles and shifts his hips in a lazy circle, humming at the press of Sakusa through their clothes. “But I think ya want me.”

Sakusa hands squeeze even tighter and move slowly up his thighs. “Maybe,” he agrees.

Atsumu allows himself to take a glance at Sakusa’s mouth, letting out a soft huff of breath. _So close so close-_

“Omi,” he whispers. “Can I kiss ya?”

“Yes,” Sakusa says, immediate and with a thread of something Atsumu thinks he should maybe think about later. But for now, he just accepts the permission and presses into a kiss with a needy hum.

Sakusa licks at the seam of his lips at once and Atsumu parts them, shivering at the sharp burn of the mouthwash still lingering on his tongue. He curls his fingers into Sakusa’s hair and licks into his mouth, doing his best to chase the taste away. Sakusa’s hands are already pushing beneath his shirt, and Atsumu doesn’t bother to muffle his groan, arching into the warm drag of his palms.

Sakusa pulls out of the kiss sooner than Atsumu would prefer, but his mouth goes straight to his neck, nipping and licking at Atsumu’s favorite spots. Atsumu tips his head back, grinding down against Sakusa in response. Sakusa leans away just long enough to tug off Atsumu’s sweater and toss it aside, before his mouth is back, carving out a path across Atsumu’s collarbone and down his chest.

Atsumu’s hips buck sharply when Sakusa’s mouth closes around his nipple, teeth dragging across the tender skin. “Aah- _warn_ a guy, Omi, fuck-” He tilts his head down to glance at him and has to repress a shiver when he finds Sakusa looking up at him through his lashes.

“Don’t like it?” he murmurs, lips brushing against damp skin.

Atsumu shakes his head a little, breathing coming a little faster. “Like it,” he says, hands grazing down Sakusa’s arms slowly. “Just surprised me, ‘s all.”

Sakusa hums, and the vibration makes Atsumu shiver, hands curling around Sakusa’s biceps. His head falls back again when Sakusa’s mouth closes around his nipple again, toes curling at the sharp pleasure. It’s easy to get lost in, and he doesn’t notice that Sakusa’s hand is on the move until his fingers find the opposite nipple, twisting it in a dull counterpoint to his mouth. Atsumu digs his nails into Sakusa’s arms, stuttering out a weak moan.

“Goin’ straight for the- _kill-_ ” He rocks forward at a sudden flick, eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck, Omi-”

Sakusa’s mouth makes a wet sound that goes straight to Atsumu’s dick when he pulls away and Atsumu looks down just in time to see him lick his lips. He’s flushed, the barest ring of dark brown visible around his pupil. “Atsumu,” he murmurs. At the same time, he drags his nails down Atsumu’s ribs. Atsumu’s skin pebbles and he shivers, mouth falling open on an exhale.

“Yeah, Omi?”

Sakusa lifts a hand, catching his chin. His thumb sweeps against Atsumu’s lower lip, and Atsumu’s awareness narrows down to that point of contact, mouth opening just a little more. He clenches his hands in Sakusa’s t-shirt, coiled tight with anticipation.

“Are you going to let me fuck you again?” Sakusa asks, voice thick and a fraction deeper than usual. _Effected._

Atsumu nods slowly, careful not to dislodge his hand. “Gonna be real pissed if ya don’t,” he says weakly. He can feel the calluses on Sakusa’s thumb catching on the thin skin of his lips, knows that they came from years of hard work, from slamming into balls over and over, but the touch on his lip is delicate, and Atsumu feels almost drunk on it.

“Oh?” Sakusa rubs his thumb slowly back and forth, and Atsumu can feel drool pooling in his mouth. His thumb stills and Atsumu realizes belatedly that he’s waiting for an answer.

“Kinda why I came,” he says, and his voice is unfamiliar in his own ears.

“Why?” Sakusa’s thumb dips just past his teeth and Atsumu curls his tongue against it. He almost pouts when it slides away again, leaving the lingering taste of his skin behind.

“Wanted ya to fuck me again,” he replies, which he personally thinks is fairly obvious.

Sakusa hums, eyes trained on Atsumu’s mouth. “Tell me how.”

Atsumu smiles, enjoying the feeling of his lips shifting beneath Sakusa’s touch. “Ya want me to talk dirty to ya, Omi? Don’t seem the type.”

Sakusa’s eyes raise to his, and his thumb slides past his lips again. It presses against his tongue, forcing his mouth open wider. “I could just say what I’d like to do to you. Your input isn’t necessary.”

Atsumu barely manages to close his eyes before they roll back into his head, hips circling forward again against his will. Sakusa isn’t really giving him the space to close his lips, and he can feel drool sneaking from the corner of his mouth, and he’s _fucked_ because this is ranking disturbingly high in his favorite moments ever.

The pressure on his tongue eases, and Sakusa’s thumb brushes against it almost like an apology. “Okay?” he murmurs, and Atsumu’s heart throbs against his rib cage because that’s _sweet._

Atsumu opens his eyes again and raises his hands to hold Sakusa’s hand between them. He closes his lips and sucks at his thumb, swirling his fingers around the digit. He moans softly in response.

Sakusa’s free hand squeezes his hip, dragging Atsumu down into his lap. “Good boy,” he says, and Atsumu’s eyes flutter closed. Sakusa leans closer, and Atsumu feels him nuzzle against his cheek, before he speaks again, lips right beside his ear. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Atsumu moans again, encouraging. He pulls Sakusa’s thumb from his mouth and tilts his head, wrapping his lips around his first two fingers instead. Sakusa’s thumb rubs a gentle circle against his cheek, smearing saliva against his skin.

“I liked watching last time,” he says. There’s a faint hitch in his voice when Atsumu sucks, and Atsumu latches onto the silent praise with another small moan. “But I think I want to finger you this time. I want to see you spread open on my fingers. I’ll be the first person to finger you too, won’t I, Atsumu?”

Atsumu isn’t going to survive this. He ruts forward against Sakusa with a helpless whimper, working his tongue over Sakusa’s fingers, imagining the same fingers spreading him open. Sakusa’s right, of course. He could take another one of Atsumu’s firsts. Atsumu only wishes he had more to give him.

“I can touch you wherever I want,” Sakusa murmurs, and that odd note is back in his tone, but Atsumu can’t focus enough to investigate. “And you’ll want it.”

Atsumu can only nod, squeezing Sakusa’s hand. He whines when Sakusa pulls his fingers away, but it’s swallowed immediately by Sakusa’s mouth. The hand that had been in Atsumu’s mouth twists, fingers lacing through Atsumu’s. Atsumu’s other hand falls to Sakusa’s chest, and he leans into the kiss.

_Holding hands. We’re holding hands._

Sakusa shifts, turning Atsumu over in one easy twist to pin him to the bed. Their joined hands press into the mattress over Atsumu’s head, and Sakusa hitches his leg up and over his hip, grinding into him in an agonizingly slow roll. He doesn’t break the kiss for even a moment, and all of Atsumu’s senses are blessedly flooded with _Omi._

And then, just barely audible from where it’s stuck between his ass and the bed, Atsumu hears the muffled audio of the Ouran Host Club theme song, which is both mortifying and an instant distraction from the very sexy direction his evening was taking. Nothing kills the mood like a middle school inside joke with his brother. He squirms against the mattress until he manages to silence his phone, chasing Sakusa’s mouth when he tries to pull away. Sakusa sinks into him again without complaint, shoulders relaxing without Osamu’s ringtone intruding. 

Less than a minute later it rings again. Atsumu wiggles beneath Sakusa until he manages to silence it again, whining into his mouth and turning his wiggles into a desperate little grind when Sakusa tries to pull away again. 

The third time it rings, Atsumu has a harder time ignoring it. He lets Sakusa pull away from the kiss, tipping his head back to let him kiss his throat instead. The sound is almost completely dampened between his body and the mattress, but at the moment, it’s the only thing Atsumu can focus on. 

“Please don’ kill me, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu slurs, and shifts up to tug his phone from his pocket with his free hand.

“Are you _answering-_?”

“ _What_ , ‘Samu?” Atsumu says immediately, sending Sakusa a look he hopes projects _I am as furious as you are, same team._

There’s a long pause. Atsumu watches Sakusa drop his chin against the center of his chest, glowering up at him. He sticks out his tongue in response.

“I swear t’God, ‘Samu, if this is about the fuckin’ fish-”

_“Are you busy?”_

Atsumu goes still, dropping his silent conversation with Sakusa in an instant. Osamu sounds wrong. Really wrong.

“Nah, ‘Samu, never too busy for ya. What’s up?”

_“On my way to Osaka.”_

Atsumu blinks at the ceiling, brows drawing together. “What d’ya mean? Don’t ya gotta work this weekend?”

 _“You sound way dumber than usual,”_ Osamu says, evasive. _“Did I wake you up or somethin’?”_

“Yeah, somethin’. Why’re you comin’ here?” There’s another long pause, long enough that Atsumu glances at his phone to make sure the call hasn't dropped. “‘Samu?”

_“I can’t do it anymore, ‘Tsumu. This shit with Rin. I can’t.”_

Atsumu closes his eyes for a moment, and he wonders if the pain in his chest belongs to him or to Osamu. “What happened?”

 _“Nothing. Not-”_ There’s a heavy sigh, followed by an odd chuckle that Atsumu is very aware usually precedes tears. _“He had a hickey. When I called ‘im last night. An’ when I asked him about it, he said it was nothin’. Then today I see ‘im in some girl’s mentions on instagram and, fuck!”_ Osamu’s voice raises sharply, and Atsumu pulls his phone away from his ear with a wince. _“Fuck, this is dumb as shit. I’m not doin’ this. I’m not. I’m not doin’ it anymore, ‘Tsumu-”_

“Yer comin’ here, right? Are ya on a train?” If he’s on a train, Atsumu needs to leave immediately, go back for his car, drive to the station-

_“Nah. Stole ma’s car. She doesn’t have work tomorrow, she won’t care.”_

She would actually probably strangle him for having such poor manners if he hadn’t even asked, but Atsumu decides not to mention it. “How far are ya?”

_“‘Bout half an hour.”_

“Okay. Just come straight over, alright? I’ll call us in some food. We can talk about it.”

There’s another pause. _“I don’t wanna talk about it, ‘Tsumu. I don’t even wanna think about it.”_

“Alright then, I got liquor.”

Osamu huffs a laugh that sounds a little too watery for someone supposedly driving. Atsumu fights back the urge to snap at him over it. _“Alright. See ya in a bit, then.”_

“See ya. Drive safe.”

_“Yer not our ma.”_

“Yeah, yeah. Love ya.”

_“Love ya.”_

The call ends and Atsumu drops his phone to the bed, staring up at the ceiling for a second. When he finally looks at Sakusa, his flush is practically gone, and the heat in his eyes has cooled.

“That was ‘Samu,” Atsumu says unnecessarily, because he doesn’t really know what else to say. Their bodies are still pressed together, but Atsumu is nowhere near horny anymore.

“Is everything alright?” Sakusa asks.

Atsumu sighs and shakes his head. “Nah. Not really.”

“I’m sorry.” Sakusa squeezes his hand and, oh. Atsumu had kind of forgotten they were holding hands, and is a little shocked that their long fingers are still laced together against the sheets. It doesn’t last long enough for him to enjoy, because the next moment, Sakusa shifts away from him, climbing to his feet.

“What’re you sorry for? Ya leave a hickey on Sunarin here lately?” Atsumu pushes himself upright then freezes, looking at Sakusa with wide eyes. “Omi, did-”

“No, Atsumu.” Sakusa’s back is to him, but he can practically hear his eye roll. “I did not.”

Atsumu sighs, slapping a hand over his chest. “I was gonna have a fit.”

“God forbid.” When Sakusa turns back, he has Atsumu’s sweater in his hands. He shakes it, straightening it out of it’s crumpled ball before passing it back to Atsumu.

Atsumu’s traitor heart pounds, and he takes the sweater and tugs it on to hide whatever stupid expression is on his face. “Thanks, Omi.”

“Get your shoes on. You don’t want him to beat you there.”

Atsumu stands and adjusts his clothes before hurrying to the genkan, stuffing his feet into his sneakers. He has to hop on one foot to tug one of them over his heel. Sakusa has followed him and is standing out of the way of his flailing limbs.

“Really, Omi-kun,” he says, and pauses to make a triumphant noise when his shoe finally settles properly on his foot. He taps his toe against the floor just to make sure. “I’m sorry. Trust me, if it wasn’t ‘Samu-”

Atsumu is looking down, so he doesn’t notice Sakusa step down into the genkan until he’s shifting into Atsumu’s space. Atsumu looks up, lips parting around a quiet, confused noise. Sakusa’s hands fall to his hips and he doesn’t hesitate to dip down and press into a gentle kiss. After a shocked moment of inaction, Atsumu leans into him, hands lifting to cup his cheeks. It’s maybe the most careful kiss Atsumu has ever received, just soft lips moving delicately against his for a drawn out, quiet moment.

Sakusa pulls away with one last peck. He squeezes Atsumu’s waist, and when Atsumu opens his eyes, Sakusa’s eyes are calm and almost kind.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, quiet. “Go take care of your brother, Atsumu.”

Atsumu’s heart flips, and he presses his lips together against a sudden swell of confusing emotion. He swallows thickly and nods, leaning up to give Sakusa one last kiss, whispering, “Thanks, Kiyoomi,” right against his lips. He stumbles out the door without waiting for a reaction, heart racing and mind spinning in a hundred different directions. He calls a lyft on his way down, and while he’s standing at the curb, he sends exactly one text.

**21:43, Miya Atsumu**  
_how’s it feel to be a dead man walking, sunarin?_

\---

Atsumu is waiting in the parking lot when Osamu pulls in. As soon as he’s out of the car, Atsumu is there, tugging him into a rough hug by the nape of his neck.

“Knock it off,” Osamu mutters, but his arms are tight around his waist, and his face is damp against Atsumu’s throat.

“What, I can’t miss my little brother? C’mere, baby~” Atsumu squeezes him closer, humming obnoxiously.

“Yer six minutes older than me, ‘Tsumu, and ya act six years younger-”

Atsumu coos and sways with him, ignoring his complaints. When they finally break apart, Atsumu isn’t surprised to find Osamu’s eyes swollen and pink, cheeks puffy and scrubbed red. He slings an arm around his shoulders and leads him inside, rambling about the food he’d already ordered for them as a distraction. He can tell it doesn’t work, can feel the misery radiating off Osamu, even if he’s trying his best to act normal.

He doesn’t say a word about Suna until they’ve finished off enough food for four and half a bottle of vodka that Atsumu had begged Inunaki to buy him a week before. They’re sprawled on the carpet, legs tucked under the kotatsu, heads angled together.

“He’s always-” Osamu stops, and when he swallows, it sounds painful. For once in his life, Atsumu doesn’t push, rolling his head to look over at him. Osamu’s hair has grown out, roots too long, silver trimmed to near nonexistence. His grey eyes are on the ceiling, and Atsumu can see tears pooled at the corners, trembling and begging to fall.

Osamu opens his mouth once, twice, and says, “I don’t think he loves me like I love ‘im, ‘Tsumu.”

“He cheated on ya,” Atsumu murmurs. “I reckon he might not deserve ya lovin’ him.” It hurts to say. Suna has been their collective best friend for years, but. Well. No one outranks Osamu.

“We’re not even together.” Osamu huffs a laugh and grits his teeth in a rough grin. A tear slips down the side of his face, disappearing into his hair. “Ya can’t cheat on someone ya won’t commit to.”

“Bullshit. He treats ya like yer his boyfriend and expects ya to be there-”

“Ya don’t understand, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu lifts his hands, pressing the heels against his eyes. He lets out a shuddering breath. “The more I reach out, the further he gets an’ I can’t do it. I feel like my heart isn’t mine anymore. I’m always waitin’ on ‘im, and understandin’ of whatever- bullshit’s goin’ on, an-”

“That’s not yer fault.” Atsumu shifts upright and tugs at Osamu until his head is pillowed in his lap. Osamu turns into the contact with a shuddering breath, fingers curling loosely in his t-shirt. It’s the way their mother held them when they were small, gathered close in her lap. Atsumu is sure he’s nowhere near as comforting, but he hopes it’s good enough. 

Atsumu swipes a hand over his own eyes, before carefully stroking Osamu’s hair. “He’s a bastard. Yer so good, ‘Samu.”

“Shut up,” Osamu mumbles, voice thick.

“I won’t. It’s like ma used to tell us, yeah? We used to be one person, ya know.” Atsumu brushes his knuckles against Osamu’s cheek delicately, wiping away another trail of tears. “And you got all the good. You got too much good, and ya don’t deserve someone that’s got so much bad. Me and Suna are too similar. Ya need someone sweet.” A pause. “I didn’t say any of this tomorrow morning, remember that.”

Osamu huffs a laugh against his stomach. “An’ I didn’t cry either.”

“Oh, yer cryin’? Nasty.” Atsumu smiles when Osamu croaks out another laugh. Atsumu turns his head to wipe his face against his shoulder, chest aching. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I got ya.”

Osamu lays in his lap for a couple minutes longer, before sitting up with a final sniff, heavy eyes nearly swollen closed. “Where’d that vodka go?”

Atsumu passes it over. They finish it off while Atsumu tells as many ridiculous stories about the jackals - _no stories about Suna, no stories that can even wander close to Suna_ \- as he can remember. Osamu makes fun of him, and even laughs a little bit. Sometime after midnight, they’re both too drunk to keep their heads up, and they stumble into Atsumu’s bed. They curl up together like they did when they were small, and Atsumu stays awake until Osamu’s chest stops trembling with restrained tears.

He buries his nose in Osamu’s hair and breaths deep. Is this what being in love is like? Is it always painful? Atsumu hasn’t seen Osamu cry like this in years. Osamu’s the strong one, the reliable one, the level-headed one. If love’s enough to break him… Atsumu doesn’t want it. He doesn’t think he’d survive.

\---

Osamu stays for the rest of the weekend. They have lunch with Akaashi and Bokuto the next day, and Akaashi spends the majority of the meal trying to wheedle Osamu into making him a batch of onigiri to take back to Tokyo. He’s been borderline obsessed with Osamu’s onigiri since he’d made them for a group dinner a few months before. Atsumu isn’t really sure how someone as slender as Akaashi manages to eat so much, but he’s never dared to ask Bokuto. He listens to enough unprompted Akaashi stories. If he shows any actual curiosity, he doesn’t know if he would be able to get Bokuto to _stop._

Osamu caves before the check arrives. They go to the grocery store to pick up ingredients and Osamu spends the rest of the evening cooking in Atsumu’s kitchen with Atsumu perched on the counter. Atsumu watches the lingering tension slowly drain from his shoulders as he works and makes a mental note to thank Akaashi sometime soon. By the end of the evening, Osamu has made enough onigiri to feed Akaashi, Bokuto and Atsumu for the next week, and there’s a little more light in his sad eyes.

He has to leave on Sunday morning - mostly because he’d received a very aggressive message from their mother about what happens to _bad sons who steal their poor mother’s car._ But also because, as he tells Atsumu while they’re laying in bed late Saturday night, “I can’t just hide out here and hope that makes everything better.”

“Ya could,” Atsumu says. “We’ll get bunk beds again and you can live here. Be my maid.”

“What a temptin’ offer.”

Atsumu is sad to see him go, not that he’d ever admit it. But he’s glad too. Osamu seems a little better than when he’d arrived - not fixed, but better. Atsumu hopes, maybe, that he’d been able to help put enough of his pieces back together to keep him from falling apart entirely. Osamu flips him off as he drives away, hand extended from the driver’s window, and it’s the lightest Atsumu has felt in days.

\---

It doesn’t last long. It barely lasts through the next hour Atsumu spends cleaning his apartment in preparation for a week of practice. Because, without Osamu there as a distraction, Atsumu’s mind inevitably turns back to Sakusa.

Seeing Sakusa had been weird, this time. Something had been different. He knows the change in the atmosphere was partially his fault. He’d gone in too excited, too unsure, and he has no doubt it was coloring the entire memory. He still doesn’t know what to do with the tight knot of unrecognizable emotion sitting in his stomach, or what it means. He’s clinging to the idea of fucked up brain chemistry induced by mind blowing sex. The other possibility is too terrifying to examine, so he tries to ignore it entirely.

But Sakusa had been different too. There was something almost _desperate_ about him, and desperate and Sakusa are completely opposing concepts. Atsumu’s mind sticks on the odd cadence of his voice. How just once or twice, Sakusa had sounded completely unlike himself. The best word Atsumu can come up with is _frantic. I can touch you wherever I want._

And Sakusa had kissed him before he left. Atsumu ran out of him mid-hookup and Sakusa walked him to the door and _kissed him goodbye._

Atsumu spends approximately two hours trying to make sense of it, and only finds more moments to dissect until the whole memory has become a jumbled mess. The knot is his stomach is pulsing with uncomfortable heat and he feels like if he doesn’t do something soon he might explode. And all he wants to do is talk to Omi.

He pulls out a phone and sends a text before he can talk himself out of it.

**22:03, Miya Atsumu**  
_i know ur probably already back in tokyo. thanks for being cool about me ditching. samu’s okay. guess this means i owe u one. ;)_

Atsumu promptly abandons his phone on the couch and escapes to his bathroom for a long, hot shower. He tries to think about anything other than Sakusa Kiyoomi with very disappointing results. By the time he returns to his phone, thirty minutes have passed and there’s no response from Sakusa.

Atsumu reminds himself that it’s late. Sakusa probably spent the day traveling, and definitely seems like the sort of guy with a very strict sleep schedule. It doesn’t mean anything. He’ll reply in the morning, probably. 

He goes to sleep wrapped around a pillow, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T BE MAD, DON'T BE MAD i swear everything will be resolved, everyone gets a happy ending, we just... got a little pain to get there whoops.
> 
> (i am also so shocked by the response to the side sunaosa. i really didn't expect it and began feverishly writing a sequel/coda about them last night. so look forward to that??)
> 
> i am going to do my best to post the next chapter later tonight, as i don't really enjoy leaving things feeling ~icky~
> 
> [tumblr](https://noodletastic.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/noodletastix)


	5. Chapter 5

Atsumu wakes up nervous. Usually, he’ll sleep through his first alarm and wake up on the third with just enough time to get ready for his day. 

Instead, he sits straight up. He looks at his phone long enough to dismiss his alarm and immediately puts it back on his side table. Then he rolls out of bed, throws on the first clothes he finds, and goes on a run. 

Running without his phone, however, means running without music, which means he has nothing to stop him from spiralling right back into thoughts of Sakusa. And it doesn’t matter how fast he runs. He can’t escape the constant buzz of _Omi Omi Omi_ in his brain. By the time he completes his circuit, he’s soaked in sweat despite the cool morning air, he’s gasping for breath, and he’s come to a very grim conclusion.

He, without a doubt, has feelings for Sakusa. It’s not hormones, it’s not sex-related confusion. It’s bonafide, real, _disgusting_ feelings. It’s not the nervous, desperate sexual attraction he’d had for Chieko. It’s not the butterfly-gut adoration he’d had for Kita. It’s not like any other crush he’s ever had. It’s different. It’s unique. It’s _worse._

Returning to his apartment feels like marching to his own funeral. He can’t stop thinking about Sakusa’s fingers laced through his. He can’t stop thinking about the way his nose crinkles just-so when he’s irritated. He can’t stop thinking about Sakusa’s hand gently brushing his hair away from his face, or the hesitant way he had asked _are you okay_ after they had sex.

He can’t stop thinking about the inevitability that, regardless of all of those things, Sakusa isn’t going to text him back. All of these feelings are Atsumu’s alone. Sakusa has somehow taken hold of something deep in his chest and Atsumu knows there’s no way he’s managed to do the same.

He avoids the confirmation as long as he can. He takes a brisk shower, gets dressed for practice, and eats breakfast before finally picking up his phon, stomach already clenched tight. He has multiple twitter alerts, a handful of emails that he dismisses into his already alarmingly full inbox, and a text from Suna that would be intriguing if not for the alert right beneath it.

**6:32, Omi-kun**  
_I’m glad._

It’s an absolute nothing text, and Atsumu still feels joy bubble up in his chest.

**7:22, Miya Atsumu**  
_oh?? ur glad i owe ya?_

He doesn’t expect a reply, and is clicking away to check his message from Suna when his phone buzzes in his palm.

**7:22, Omi-kun**  
_No._

**7:23, Omi-kun**  
_I meant that I’m glad your brother is alright, moron._

Atsumu collapses on his bed, holding his phone over his face, jaw slack with wonder. The insult barely registers.

**7:23, Miya Atsumu**  
_!!!!_

**7:24, Miya Atsumu**  
_this just in: omi-kun is sweet in the morning_

**7:25, Omi-kun**  
_Your reading comprehension is abysmal._

**7:25, Miya Atsumu**  
_ur just upset i’ve discovered ur weakness._

**7:26, Miya Atsumu**  
_do you have an early practice?_

The next reply takes longer, but Atsumu can’t look away, heart racing. He forgets the text from Suna completely, too fixated on the euphoric rush of unexpected attention to register that his brother’s newly-minted ex should _not_ be texting him.

**7:32, Omi-kun**  
_No, lab._

Atsumu chews on his lip. It’s not a text that begs for a reply, and his usual move would be to leave the person he was messaging hanging. To make them question the absence of reply and trick them into reaching out again, to flip the tables and make them into the pursuer. 

But he also usually doesn’t give a flying fuck if they respond at all.

**7:34, Miya Atsumu**  
_what class? ( •᷄ὤ•᷅)_

**7:35, Omi-kun**  
_I’m not going to respond if you use those stupid faces._

Atsumu grins to himself and checks the time before rolling out of bed. He fires off another message on his way out of his apartment, gym bag slung over his shoulder.

**7:36, Miya Atsumu**  
_ok. what class?_

\---

He has to stop texting Sakusa to focus on practice, but it weirdly doesn’t bother him; Sakusa understands that volleyball is _important._ He tells him why he has to stop responding, first, and in his typical fashion, Sakusa just says _good. you need the practice, miya._

It’s his best practice in weeks. He feels light on his feet, makes riskier moves than he usually would outside of a match, and his serves are sharp enough to inspire raucous cheers from Bokuto on the other side of the net. Coach Foster even gives him an approving nod. Atsumu is on cloud fucking nine.

That doesn’t stop him from diving for his phone as soon as they’re released for lunch.

**12:42, Miya Atsumu**  
_omi~_

Again, there’s a response before he can even put his phone down, and he grins to himself, shoving the remaining quarter of his onigiri into his mouth to respond.

**12:42, Omi-kun**  
_What._

**12:43, Miya Atsumu**  
_do ya like tokyo?_

**12:45, Omi-kun**  
_I’ve lived here my entire life, Miya._

**12:46, Miya Atsumu**  
_yea, but do ya like it?_

They trade texts for the rest of the day and into the week. They fall into a conversation about music on Thursday, and Atsumu finds out that Sakusa has a near encyclopedic knowledge of underground rap. He makes dinner with his earbuds in, listening to a rather aggressive playlist that Sakusa forwarded him after Atsumu admitted to not knowing a single artist he had recommended. In retaliation, Atsumu sends him a two hour playlist comprised exclusively of the American smash hit _Bubblegum Bitch_ with the explanation of _idk omi, just reminds me of ya!_ (He follows it up with one of his actual playlists and isn’t bothered at all that Sakusa doesn’t respond.)

He’s almost done with dinner and fumbling to keep up with the lyrics of a song with a very intense bass line when his phone starts ringing. He answers without checking the contact, blinking at the abrupt change from music to static in his headphones.

“Ma, I thought you were callin’ at seven,” he says immediately. He reaches into the fridge to grab a carton of eggs. There’s a long pause on the other line that makes him pause and wince. “But it’s fine! Don’t do the mad thing-”

 _“‘Tsumu,”_ Suna says, and his voice is hesitant and entirely unlike him. Atsumu crushes the egg in his hand in surprise and shifts quickly to the sink to avoid making even more of a mess.

“What’re you callin’ me for?” he snaps immediately.

_“It’s about Osamu-”_

“Don’t even.” Atsumu rinses his hand quickly and then sets about washing his hands, turning nervous eyes towards the stove. “Gonna hang up on ya now-”

_“Atsumu!”_

Atsumu pauses. He’s not sure he’s ever heard Suna raise his voice outside of the context of a game and it’s enough to draw his curiosity. When Suna doesn’t continue, he says, “Well?”

_“Did you get my text?”_

“Didn’t look at it,” Atsumu says honestly. He’d forgotten about the text completely, actually.

Suna’s sigh comes through as a _whoosh_ of static. _“Osamu blocked my number. I need to talk to him.”_

Atsumu frowns, cracking another egg over the rice sizzling in his pan. That didn’t sound like Osamu, but he’d also never dealt with Osamu post breakup. “Tough. I’m sure he’s got his reasons-”

 _“I fucked up,”_ Suna cuts in. _“I fucked up and I need to talk to him.”_

Atsumu clicks his tongue dismissively. “If ya really thought that, you’d go see ‘im-”

 _“I can’t!”_ It’s the second time in as many minutes that Suna has yelled, and it makes Atsumu’s jaw click closed. _“We’re traveling this week. I won’t be able to make a trip back home for at least another week, and I can’t-”_ His voice catches and Atsumu’s brows shoot up. Never, not once, has he seen or heard Suna cry, but he isn’t sure what else that noise could be. _“I can’t wait that long,”_ he finishes lamely.

“You’ve been makin’ him wait awhile on you,” Atsumu points out unsympathetically. “He’s been waitin’ on you for years.”

There’s a long silence, before Suna says, _“Will you tell him to call me or not?”_

“Convince me,” Atsumu says. He takes his dinner off the heat, sliding the pan onto the opposite side of the stovetop.

_“What?”_

“Convince me. Tell me what ya did and why yer sorry and I’ll decide if I even ask ‘im to.” Atsumu leans against the counter and looks down at his feet, curling his toes against the tile. “Ya hurt him, Suna, and at this point I’m more likely to maul ya on sight than suggest ‘Samu give ya any kind of chance.”

_“It’s none of your business-”_

“Hangin’ up,” Atsumu says, flat.

 _“Wait!”_ A third time. _“Just- fuck.”_ The line is silent for a few long seconds. _“I went out with the team. To a club. There were girls hanging around. I was drunk out of my mind, ‘Tsumu, I didn’t even know what I was doing. She kissed me and I let it happen until I- realized. What was happening.”_ There’s another _whoosh_ of static. _“I stopped and I hoped it just- it wasn’t anything. I would- never. Not to him.”_ His voice goes soft at the end and Atsumu closes his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“He’s fuckin’ nuts over ya, Suna. Yer not dumb, ya know how he feels about ya.”

_“I know.”_

“Then why do ya keep pushin’ him away? Because I’m not dumb either, no matter what the two of ya think. I know ya love him too.”

Another _whoosh,_ and this time it’s shaky and crackles into a laugh. _“We live four hours away from each other, ‘Tsumu. I can’t- I can’t be out with him right now. I can’t be there with him. What can I even give him? He deserves better than that.”_

“Now I know yer stupid,” Atsumu says heatlessly. “When has ‘Samu asked for any of that shit?”

A hesitation and then, _“Never.”_

“I reckon ‘Samu’d be happy with any scrap of yer attention, but I agree with ya. He doesn’t deserve that.”

_“He doesn’t.”_

Atsumu tips his head back to look at the ceiling, releasing a slow sigh. “I’ll ask him to call ya,” he relents. “Try and figure it out with him. But if ya hurt him again, I’ll be on the first train to Nagoya to kick yer ass.”

_“Atsumu-”_

“I mean it, Suna.”

Another lengthy pause and a quiet sigh. _“I know.”_

“Alright.” Atsumu scratches at his scalp with a heavy sigh of his own. “I can’t promise ya he’ll even call, but I’ll tell ‘im he should.”

_“Thank you. Really.”_

“Yeah, whatever-”

_“And ‘Tsumu?”_

“What?” Atsumu straightens up, moving to plate his dinner at last.

_“I’m, uh. Sorry. That I- hurt you, too.”_

Atsumu feels something in his chest release and clicks his tongue, irritated. “Ya better be.”

_“I am. Thank you.”_

“Later.” Atsumu ends the call before Suna can say anything else. 

He takes his time eating and has his weekly call with his mother at seven sharp. After they hang up, cleans up after himself before sitting to call his brother. It’s not a call he’s really looking forward to and he figures Suna deserves to sulk a bit more. He brought it on himself, anyway.

But he does call.

 _“I’m at work, scrub,”_ Osamu answers.

“Well, shit,” Atsumu blurts, then rolls his eyes at himself. “Call me after then.”

 _“What do ya want?”_ There’s muffled sounds on the other end of the line, and then the sound dies off abruptly.

“Where are ya?”

 _“Alley. What do ya want?”_ he repeats.

Atsumu steels himself, ignoring Osamu's silent impatience, before saying, “Suna called me.”

There’s a short inhale, then silence.

“He wants to talk to ya, ‘Samu.”

 _“Tough shit,”_ Osamu says, but his voice wavers, not as forceful as he clearly intended it to be.

“I talked to ‘im and I think ya should call him,” Atsumu says, and raises his voice when Osamu tries to interrupt. “He wants to talk it out with ya. I swear, I think he was cryin’.”

Osamu goes silent, and then in a very small voice, says, _“He was cryin’?”_

“I said I think he was.” Atsumu rolls his eyes and starts a list of all the favors Suna is going to owe him after this. “Call him, ‘Samu.”

_“I don’t want to talk to him.”_

“Bullshit,” Atsumu says, and tries his best not to sound too irritated. “I know ya miss him, ma told me you’ve been mopin’ since ya got home.”

_“You two’ve got to stop gossipin’ about me-”_

“We’re concerned about ya, idiot.” Atsumu desperately wishes it was hours earlier, when he was still locked in a bubble of hopeful Omi-related thoughts. “And ya know I wouldn’t even be tellin’ ya this if I didn’t think it was worth it for ya to try.”

 _“I don’t know,”_ Osamu says, voice wavering just a little. _“I don’t know if I can deal with bad news.”_

“He’s been tryin’ to get in touch with ya since Monday,” Atsumu says, because the text he’d received and subsequently ignored had _also_ been about Osamu. Atsumu kind of admires Suna’s patience, waiting three whole days to follow up.

_“What if-”_

“Christ, ‘Samu, don’t call him if ya don’t want to,” Atsumu interjects, “But we both know ya want to. Call me after, if ya need me.” A pause. “Actually, call me anyway.”

 _“Fuck you,”_ Osamu mutters, and Atsumu rolls his eyes.

“Love ya too,” he says, and hangs up. 

He gets ready for bed and restarts Sakusa’s playlist while he’s at it. When he slides under the covers, he checks the time and shoots off at text.

**20:34, Miya Atsumu**  
_i like the one that goes duh-dum-duh-duh_

**20:39, Omi-kun**  
_You’re a brat._

Atsumu grins, and replies with an actual string of lyrics he’d enjoyed. He texts Omi until his vision goes fuzzy, and falls asleep with his phone cradled in his hands.

He wakes up the next day to two cash transfers, one from Osamu for five hundred yen, and one from Suna for two thousand. The memos on both just say _fuck you_ , but it’s all he needs to see to know that the talk was apparently a success. He reacts to both of them with an angry face and moves on to his texts. There’s one from his mom that’s just a picture of her work crocs and a crying emoji that makes him snort, and there’s a string of five messages from Bokuto begging for help in selecting a birthday gift for Akaashi. Atsumu replies _your dick_ and moves on.

**1:05, Omi-kun**  
_I’ve never understood the appeal of spaghetti westerns._

**1:34, Omi-kun**  
_Good night, Miya._

Atsumu feels himself flush and turns his face to hide his grin against his pillow, before replying.

**7:02, Miya Atsumu**  
_morning, omi-omi~_

\---

Texting Sakusa is _fun._ The fact that Sakusa hasn’t stopped replying to him blows his mind on the daily. In the last two weeks, he’s accumulated more information about who Sakusa is as a person than he has in the last four years of knowing him and one year of occasional hookups.

Sakusa doesn’t care for sweets, but loves sour candy. He’s prefers umeboshi over candy, but he’ll settle for anything tart. He reads in his off-time between studying and practice, and prefers poetry to prose or nonfiction. He wants tattoos, but has no intention of ever getting one (he doesn’t say why, but Atsumu knows it’s part of his Germ Thing and doesn’t push.) His mother had wanted him to be a pianist, but he’d hated it so much he pretended to be bad at it to escape lessons. He’d picked physics as his major because it was the most hands-off science option and his parents hadn’t wanted him to pursue an arts major. He has a deep seated hatred not for Hello Kitty, but for the concept of Hello Kitty, which is so simultaneously perplexing and hilarious that Atsumu broke down into tears laughing over it.

But they don’t flirt. Well- Sakusa doesn’t flirt. Atsumu flirts almost nonstop, but he’s not really sure if Sakusa has noticed. It’s frustrating, because while he’s happy that he and Sakusa have somehow become, if not friends at least… friendly, it’s not exactly what he wants.

They’ve been at it for a month when, frustrated over an unknown melody stuck in his head, Atsumu calls him without thinking.

_“Miya? What-”_

“Fuck, okay, so.” Atsumu shifts his phone between his ear and his shoulder, in the middle of rinsing rice over his sink. “There’s this song stuck in my head, and I know it’s one of yours, because the lyrics are goin’ too fast in my head for me to remember ‘em. But it goes like this-” Atsumu is not a talented singer, but he does his level best to hum the notes into the phone, squinting down into his rice pot.

 _“Please stop,”_ Sakusa interrupts, sounding both irritated and a little confused.

“Omi,” he whines, then pauses, hands going still as he realizes what he’s done. The line is silent, and Atsumu’s heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his fingertips. “Oh,” he says, voice cracking around the syllable. “Um-”

 _“Thunderclap,”_ Sakusa says.

Atsumu pulls his hands out of the sink, drying them hastily on his jeans. He winces immediately, thinking of the reaction Sakusa would have to that action. “What?”

 _“The song,”_ Sakusa clarifies. His voice has evened out, as level and dispassionate as always. _“That’s what it’s called.”_

“Oh.” Atsumu clutches his phone closer to his ear. Why did he call him? Why did he think that was okay? Why didn’t he even _think_ before doing it? “Um. Thanks.”

There’s a small note of amusement in Sakusa’s voice when he speaks again. _“You’re welcome.”_

Atsumu closes his eyes and waves a hand at himself, begging his cheeks to cool. _Calm down calm down calm down-_

 _“I thought you were cooking,”_ Sakusa says, and Atsumu lets out a sharp breath. If Sakusa is acting like this is normal…

“I am.” Atsumu swallows and steps back over to the sink, adjusting his phone on his shoulder. “I’m standing here preppin’ rice and I couldn’t get that fuckin’ song outta my head.”

_“And so you called me.”_

“I called ya.” Atsumu cups his hand at the edge of his pot, slowly straining the water through his fingers. “Is that… alright?”

_“I wouldn’t have answered if it wasn’t.”_

Atsumu grins, heart flipping over in his chest. “Cool.”

 _“Cool,”_ Sakusa mocks. He sounds like he’s smirking. Atsumu imagines the quirk of his lips and his grin widens.

“Well, since I got ya here,” Atsumu says, filling the pot half-way with water again. “Entertain me while I cook.”

_“I’m studying.”_

“Sounds like yer on the phone to me, Omi-kun.” Atsumu huffs a laugh at the faint _tch_ from Sakusa’s end of the line. He wonders if he’s sitting at his desk in his dorm room, books and laptop open in front of him. He’s probably wearing his pajamas already, and maybe his hair is damp from a shower.

_“You want me to talk to you while you cook.”_

“I do.” Atsumu grins. “How was yer day?”

_“Fine.”_

Atsumu waits and laughs again when Sakusa doesn’t say anything else. “Now yer supposed to ask how _my_ day was.”

_“But I don’t care.”_

“Mean-”

_“And you already told me that you woke up late, forgot your lunch at home, and used it as an excuse to get burgers for lunch with Bokuto. I’m still surprised you didn’t barf at your afternoon practice.”_

Sakusa says it like he’s reading the ingredients on the back of a shampoo bottle, and Atsumu still catches himself smiling like a moron over it. “I got a stomach of steel.”

_“You’re going to die of a heart attack when you’re thirty-five.”_

“You’ll never live to find out,” Atsumu says loftily. “That stick up yer ass is gonna kill ya before you see yer twenties.”

_“Ha.”_

“Oh, did ya see that game between the Frogs and the Spirits?” Atsumu switches gears, shuffling over to the fridge to grab his vegetables from the crisper. “I meant to ask ya about it yesterday.”

_“Unfortunately.”_

Atsumu works his way through his meal prep for the next two days with his phone cradled against his shoulder, and doesn’t notice how long it’s been until he’s wiping down the counter. He has a stitch in his neck so intense that his phone slides from his shoulder when his muscles suddenly spasm. He dives after it, shoving it back against his ear after a cursory check to make sure the screen hadn’t shattered against the tile.

_“-ya?”_

“Sorry! Sorry.” Atsumu slumps down onto the floor, pulling his legs criss-cross. He rubs his neck with his free hand, wincing at the ache. “Dropped my phone.”

 _“Of course you did.”_ Sakusa’s voice is… warm, almost, despite the mocking lilt. Atsumu tugs one leg to his chest, resting his chin against his knee with a small smile.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

_“I’ve been making fun of you for the last hour.”_

“Right.” Atsumu rolls his eyes, glancing at his phone. Actually, they’ve been talking for closer to two hours, and it’s nearly eleven. How had he not noticed? “It’s kinda late, huh?”

Sakusa makes a thoughtful noise. _“Huh.”_

“Yeah.” Atsumu bites his lip, looking back down at his lap. “I should let ya go. Yer supposed to be studyin’.”

 _“Too late for that.”_ Sakusa sighs, and Atsumu closes his eyes, pretending he can feel the exhale against his ear. _“I should sleep.”_

“Me too.” Atsumu wishes, suddenly, that they were sleeping together, and the most alarming part is that he really means _sleeping._ He wonders what Sakusa looks like when he’s asleep. If all of the tension leaves his body, or if he’s restless. He wonders if he’s a cuddler.

_“You’re prepping to go on the road this week, right?”_

“Yeah.” Atsumu hums, opening his eyes to stare blankly at his cabinets. It’s weird to miss someone when he’s already talking to them. “Physicals first thing tomorrow, light training the next day, leaving the next morning.”

There’s a long pause, just long enough for Atsumu to feel inexplicably nervous, before Sakusa asks, _“Worried about your physical?”_

Atsumu frowns, and takes a quick catalogue of his body before answering. “Nah. I’m in tip-top shape.”

_“No tests you’re nervous about?”_

“Wha-” Atsumu’s jaw clicks shut and he has to fight to push down a very sudden blush. _Oh._

_“Sorry. Forget I asked-”_

“Not worried,” Atsumu interjects quickly. “Not about that either. No, uh. No reason for me to be nervous. About that.”

_“Oh.”_

The silence lingers for a while, and for the first time there’s a quiet tension that has been absent in their comfortable back and forth. There’s heat pooling in Atsumu’s stomach, and he pinches his shin to try and distract himself.

“So, uh-”

_“Atsumu-”_

The both speak at once, and immediately go quiet. The heat in Atsumu’s face and cheeks flares, and he fights the urge to press his face into the cool tile. _Atsumu._

 _“Atsumu,”_ Sakusa says again, and Atsumu shoves a hand over his mouth to stop himself from saying a word. He hasn’t heard _that_ voice in too long. _“We should go to bed.”_

Atsumu nods quickly, and then realizes that Sakusa can’t see him, and clears his throat to reply. “Yeah, we- we should, huh?”

 _“Yeah.”_ There’s another long silence, and then he continues. _“So. Goodnight, Mi-”_

“Omi,” he says, swallowing down his nerves. “I’m glad I called ya. I- thanks. For talkin’ to me.”

The silence lingers and Atsumu squeezes his eyes closed.

 _“Go to sleep, Atsumu,”_ Sakusa says at last, and Atsumu lets out an unintentional sigh, slapping a hand over his reckless heart.

“Okay,” he whispers, afraid to speak any louder and ruin- whatever this is. “Night, Omi-kun.”

_“Good night. Atsumu.”_

The line goes dead. Atsumu collapses back against the cold linoleum and if the smile stretched across his face is dopey, there’s no one there to see it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter i lovingly refer to as "the one about phones"
> 
> this whole section is HELLA soft, so hope you enjoy that!!
> 
>   
> [tumblr](https://noodletastic.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/noodletastix)


	6. Chapter 6

Since his first accidental call to Sakusa, at least once a day, Atsumu has called him. They haven’t had a call as long as the first, but Sakusa answers every call without fail, even if it’s only to say that he can’t talk.

(Sakusa always talks to him for a few minutes anyway.)

But the feeling of _missing_ Sakusa hasn’t gone away. Every time he hears his voice, it gets worse. He wants to be with him. He wants to see Sakusa scowl at his stupid jokes. He wants to look into his eyes and see the subtle sparkle of his amusement. He wants to curl his fingers in his dark hair and kiss his stupid mouth and hear him say _Atsumu._

Real life gets in the way. The season is in full swing and Atsumu finds himself on the road more often than not. In the brief bouts of time he has off, he has to visit his mother and Osamu - and he couldn’t visit Sakusa anyway, since he spends weekends traveling with his own team. Atsumu feels a little bit like he’s losing his mind.

On a Friday, almost two months later, fate must decide to pity him. A training camp scheduled for the weekend is cancelled at the last minute, and a frantic glance at Sakusa’s team’s schedule reveals that they do have a game but it’s at _home._ Atsumu leaps off of his couch and rushes into his bedroom immediately, already building a list of what to pack.

“Tsum-Tsum?” Bokuto calls.

Oh. 

He’d kind of forgotten that Bokuto was there, actually. They’d been lounging in Atsumu’s living room all afternoon, binge-watching a series of Bokuto’s choosing that Atsumu had tuned out in favor of scrolling through twitter and fantasizing about what life would have been like if he’d followed Sakusa’s example and gone the collegiate route. (He’d be failing out of school, but in this fantasy he’s on the same team as Sakusa and having sex every night, so he doesn’t care too much.)

Atsumu pauses half-way into his bedroom, leaning back to look at Bokuto with a lazy grin. “Oh, uh. I just realized, since we’re off tomorrow, I can go somewhere.”

Bokuto’s mouth twists into a curious pout. “Go somewhere? We’ve _been_ everywhere.”

Traveling hadn’t been so great on Bokuto and Akaashi either. Akaashi is scheduled to arrive in the morning, or Atsumu would consider inviting Bokuto to Tokyo with him. Not that he wants Bokuto to _know_ he’s going to Tokyo.

“I’m gonna go spend the weekend with my ma,” Atsumu lies easily.

Bokuto blinks, then nods sagely. “That’s a good idea.”

Atsumu grins despite himself, leaning against the doorway. “And that means you and Akaashi won’t feel the need to invite me places. Ya might not have to wear pants all weekend, Bokkun.”

Bokuto turns pink immediately, a grin flitting across his face. “Maybe…”

Atsumu throws him an easy wink and ducks back into his bedroom. He tugs a duffle bag out and digs through his closet one-handed, checking train tickets on his phone with the other. The next train leaves in less than an hour, and should arrive in Tokyo with enough time to make it to Sakusa’s game.

He notices somewhere between his apartment and the station that he can’t stop smiling.

\---

Atsumu barely makes it in time to watch the last set. He still has his weekend bag over his shoulder, and bypasses finding a seat to stand at the railing overlooking the court instead. He’s got too much energy to sit, and anyways, he wants the best view he can get.

It’s easy to find Sakusa on the court. He’s already dripping sweat, his curls damp with it and his cheeks flushed from exertion. He’s up next to serve and he manages to score three points before his turn ends. He deftly evades the enthusiastic slaps on the back from his team as they rotate, and Atsumu swallows back a laugh. The rest of his team is good. Atsumu wouldn’t be surprised to see them on the professional circuit in a few years. But Sakusa is art in motion. They win the game, and Sakusa is responsible for seven of the final set points, including the vicious spike that wins the match. 

He hustles out of the stands as soon as the game is over, nervous energy propelling him to the hallway outside of the home team locker rooms. There are a few fans lingering nearby, dressed in team colors. There are girls clutching handmade cards and little gift boxes. Atsumu feels absolutely out of place. It’s more than a little disorienting to be at a game as an _admirer._

Osamu must absolutely never find out about this.

Atsumu puts a little distance between himself and the rest of the fans. His heart is beating a little too fast, he realizes, and he isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He tries his best to remember Bokuto’s breathing exercises and pulls out his phone.

**19:21, Miya Atsumu**   
_omi~ how was ur game?_

As usual, the response comes faster than he expects. He can feel his pulse in his fingertips.

**19:23, Omi-kun**   
_We won._

**19:24, Miya Atsumu**   
_congrats!! going out to celebrate?_

**19:25, Omi-kun**   
_They are._

**19:25, Miya Atsumu**   
_avoiding ur team? not very good team spirit!!_

**19:27, Omi-kun**   
_I’m sure I’ll be sorely missed._

Atsumu snorts and looks up as the locker room door swings open. Sakusa is the first one out, and even though he’d expected it - he knows Sakusa showers first, knows he doesn’t linger unnecessarily - his heart speeds up at the first glimpse of him. He’s not in his team colors, instead wearing dark jeans and a grey quarter-zip, zipped all the way up his throat. His chin is tucked down, mask over his nose. His bag is slung across his chest and his eyes are on his phone.

He sidesteps the fans waiting outside, ignoring their stuttered calls of _Sakusa-kun!_ without a glance. Atsumu smirks to himself and pushes away from the wall, stepping directly in his path without a word.

Sakusa freezes two steps in front of him and lowers his phone, looking up with an irritated furrow in his brow. The irritation disappears almost immediately, dark eyes widening in an uncharacteristic display of surprise.

“Sakusa-kun,” Atsumu simpers, keeping his voice low enough that the jilted girls a few steps away won’t hear. “Please, wait, I just wanted to say-”

“Miya,” Sakusa interjects, shock smoothing over into his usual impassive gaze. “What are you doing here?”

Atsumu grins, tucking his hands into his pockets. “My training for tomorrow got cancelled and I figured, since ya had a game today, I might come see ya play. Yer form was shit in the last fifteen minutes.” It hadn’t been.

One of Sakusa’s brows twitches and Atsumu’s grin widens. “Let’s not compare form.”

“Ya hungry?” Atsumu says instead, tipping his head.

“Why?” Sakusa tucks his phone into his pocket, rolling his shoulders back.

“Let me take ya to dinner.”

Sakusa arches a brow and glances at Atsumu’s bag and then back up. “I thought you came to see the game.”

“C’mon, Omi.” Atsumu ignores the prickle of heat in his neck and doesn’t let himself look away. “Ya know I came to see you.”

\---

Sakusa leads him to a ramen shop halfway between the gym and his dorm room, less than a five minute walk away. It’s small, with just eight seats at a bar mostly open to the street. There’s only one other customer, who looks about their age with dark circles under her eyes. She has a heavily annotated book in one hand and her chopsticks in the other, and doesn’t spare them more than a cursory glance as they take a seat at the opposite end of the counter.

“I’m starvin’,” Atsumu says, just to break the silence. They hadn’t spoken on the walk over, and Atsumu feels like his body has been invaded with bees, anxiety buzzing beneath his skin. It’s different from any other time he’s seen Sakusa. Usually, conversation isn’t really a problem and he’d expected it to be _better_ this time, not worse. Sakusa’s silence is grating and he’s beginning to doubt his decision to visit. Maybe Sakusa really _didn’t_ want to see him. Maybe he just liked texting him, maybe Atsumu was someone he just used to escape boredom and monotony, maybe he just liked to _mock_ him-

“I can hear you thinking,” Sakusa says. He takes his mask off and folds it carefully. He pulls out a bottle of sanitizer and squeezes some into his palm, then offers it to Atsumu, who takes a dollop with an awkward _thanks._

“Are ya a mind reader now, Omi?”

Sakusa clicks his tongue dismissively, rubbing the sanitizer between his hands. Atsumu mimics him. The smell is sharp enough to cut through grease and spices lingering in the air, familiar and oddly comforting. Atsumu feels his shoulders relax and he pulls in what feels like his first deep breath in hours. 

They place their order, and once their drinks are delivered (a soda for Atsumu, and a bottle of water for Sakusa), Atsumu asks, “Is it okay that I came to see ya?”

Sakusa twists the lid off of his water and takes a sip, inspecting Atsumu silently for a moment. “It is.”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose, even as the last of his tension begins to dissipate. “So warm, Omi. I feel real welcome-”

Sakusa reaches over and tugs the ties on Atsumu’s hoodie lightly. “I was surprised, Atsumu,” he says quietly. “I don’t like surprises.” 

There’s an unspoken implication lingering at the end of that statement that makes Atsumu’s cheeks feel too warm. He realizes belatedly that he’s staring. He snaps his mouth closed when he realizes it’s hanging open, and his teeth click together audibly. He lifts a hand to grab onto the one still curled around his drawstrings. “Only assholes don’t like surprises, Omi-Omi.”

Sakusa’s eyes narrow and he releases Atsumu’s hoodie, but doesn’t say a word when Atsumu’s hand falls with his. Atsumu twists his wrist to twine their fingers together, tugging them to rest against his knee. “How much of the game did you see?” Sakusa asks.

“Just the last set. Yer team’s alright, but the defense is kind of a mess.”

Sakusa sighs wearily and takes a left-handed sip of water. “Don’t remind me. Motoya spoiled me.”

Sakusa talks him through the first four sets while they wait for their food. When it arrives, Sakusa steals his hand back, but he loops his foot through the footrest on Atsumu’s stool, hooking their ankles while they eat. Atsumu pinches his thigh discreetly just to make sure he isn’t dreaming, and launches into a story about a late night milkshake adventure with Bokuto from the previous week.

When their checks arrive, Atsumu snatches up Sakusa’s, passing them both back over with his card at the ready. Their server hesitates, glancing at Sakusa, before walking away to close them out. Sakusa is already staring when Atsumu glances over at him innocently. 

“What?” Atsumu props his chin in his hand, raising a brow. “I figured I should buy yer meal. Since I’m a professional athlete and yer just-”

“Fine,” Sakusa interjects, and there’s amusement glittering in his eyes. Atsumu narrows his eyes in response, and Sakusa looks away, draining the last of his water casually. Their server returns with Atsumu’s card. They grab their bags and leave together.

They’re halfway to Sakusa’s dormitory when he asks, “Did you book a hotel room?”

Atsumu stumbles to a halt. “Shit.” He had _not_ booked a hotel room, and certainly didn’t relish the thought of finding something affordable at nearly nine o’clock on a Friday night in Tokyo.

Sakusa glances over his shoulder, mask hiding what Atsumu is sure is one of his particularly nasty smiles. “Did you have any kind of plan?”

“To come see yer game,” Atsumu grumbles, and starts moving again. Sakusa falls into step with him again. “I’ll start lookin’ when we get to yer place, I reckon.”

It’s quiet other than the soft scrap of their sneakers against the pavement, undercut by the ambient noise of the city at night. They’ve already made it back to Sakusa’s campus. Atsumu can see students piled at tables through the huge windows of the library, but the campus itself is almost deserted. He opens his mouth to say something, just to break the silence, and Sakusa beats him to it.

“Just stay with me,” he says.

Atsumu’s heart clenches, hard. He beats his fist against his chest once, and clears his throat. “Nah, Omi, I don’t wanna- put ya out, or make ya uncomfortable-”

“When do I say things I don’t mean?” Sakusa cuts him a look from the corner of his eye and the knot in Atsumu’s chest unravels.

“Just tryin’ to be polite.”

“It’s good to try new things.”

Atsumu snorts and shoves his elbow into Sakusa’s side. Sakusa bats him away, drawing his keycard from his pocket to let them into his dorm. They shuffle up the steps together, and Atsumu looks at Sakusa’s ass unapologetically as they climb the stairs. He’s not as nervous as he’d thought he’d be, suddenly. The discomfort of seeing him again after weeks of texts and phone calls is fading.

Which is why it takes him completely off guard when, as he’s unlocking the door to his room, Sakusa says, “Is this a date?” 

Atsumu chokes on nothing, whipping his head up to stare at him with wide eyes. Sakusa pushes his door open, but his eyes are on Atsumu. His gaze is unwavering and Atsumu feels stuck, unable to look away even as prickly heat crawls up his neck.

Atsumu had absolutely intended for this to be a date. He had a plan, a whole speech prepared. He’d been waiting for them to kiss - because they were going to kiss, he knew they were - and he was going to say, _Ya know, Omi, I don’t really like t’ put out on the first date. I think I’m a little classier than that, but ya might be able to persuade me._ It was going to be _smooth._ And _charming._

Instead, all he manages to do is squeak out an embarrassing, “What?” He winces at his own tone, and barely resists the urge to recoil.

The corner of Sakusa’s mouth curls slowly into a smirk, and he finally looks away. He steps into the dorm and Atsumu follows on autopilot, closing the door behind himself. Sakusa kneels to take off his boots and Atsumu kicks off his shoes beside him, watching him warily. One of his fingers is taped over the first knuckle, and Atsumu’s gaze catches on that, before darting back up. He sucks in a short breath at the glimmer in Sakusa’s eyes. It’s a mix between his usual amusement when he thinks Atsumu has done something particularly stupid and the gravitational shift that usually proceeds him saying something ridiculous like _come here, Atsumu,_ and Atsumu feels sweat beading on the back of his neck. Sakusa rises, sliding his feet into his house slippers without looking away from him.

“Did you come all the way to Tokyo,” Sakusa says slowly, smirk spreading into something horrifically close to a smile, “To take me on a date?”

“If I was takin’ ya on a date, Omi, you’d know it,” Atsumu says, forcing the words through teeth clenched in a smile.

He can see a flash of Sakusa’s teeth between his stupid, pink lips. “Mmhm,” Sakusa says, like he doesn’t believe him.

“What?” Atsumu drops his bag beside Sakusa’s, just on the edge of the genkan. As usual, Sakusa has managed to snatch the upper hand right out from under Atsumu. Which certainly isn’t fair since this whole visit was _his_ grand romantic gesture. “Do ya _want_ me to take ya on a date, Omi?”

“You say my name more when you’re nervous,” Sakusa says mildly. His smile has flattened back into his usual smirk, and he walks into the bathroom like they aren’t having an important conversation. “Are you nervous because you took me on a date without asking for permission?”

Atsumu sputters and follows him. He reaches up and plucks the mask hanging from Sakusa’s ear, dropping it into the waste bin without asking. “What do ya _mean_ , permission?”

“You can’t take someone on a date without asking first.” Sakusa glances over, his hands already soapy and pink from the hot water. “That would be incredibly rude.” His smirk is widening again. Atsumu kind of wants to hit him. “And weren’t you trying to be _polite_?”

Atsumu bares his teeth in an ugly smile. “Like I said, you’d know if I was takin’ ya on a date. Cuz I’d ask.” Even though he had and he hadn’t.

Sakusa hums and looks away, scraping beneath his fingernails neatly. “You came to my game, took me to dinner, paid for my food, walked me home… Sounds like a date.”

“But I didn’t _ask_ ya, so it wasn’t.” Atsumu bumps him out of the way as soon as his hands are rinsed and winces at the first touch of the water. 

Sakusa picks up a towel, drying his hands methodically. Atsumu focuses on scrubbing his hands until they feel a bit raw, cheeks burning with muted embarrassment. He feels like the entire evening has been ruined, and he’s not really sure how to get back on track. He’d sort of- well, how can he try and approach the topic of his _feelings_ when he’s been thoroughly mocked for their not-date? He has no idea when he’ll be able to visit again, and it’s not a conversation he’d really like to have on the phone, when he can’t look at Sakusa and read his delicate expressions and know how to proceed-

“I would have said yes,” Sakusa says, when Atsumu is in the middle of irritably drying his hands.

Atsumu looks up and doesn’t bother smoothing over his twisted, grumpy expression. “What?”

Sakusa is leaning against the counter beside him, and there’s something soft about the angle of his eyebrows, even though his eyes are still sparkling with amusement. Atsumu hates him and hates even more that he _doesn’t._

“If you had asked me,” Sakusa says slowly, like he’s explaining something difficult to a very stupid child. “On a date. I would have said yes.”

Atsumu blinks, mouth going slack. He doesn’t notice that he’s dropped his towel until it lands on his feet. “Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” Sakusa agrees gravely.

Atsumu swallows. A ripple of energy sudden enough to make the hair on his arms stand straight rips up his spine. His fingers feel like they're vibrating again. He takes a step towards Sakusa. “I’m gonna kiss ya now, Omi. If that’s okay.”

Sakusa nods, eyes still twinkling, and Atsumu steps close enough to cage him against the counter, tipping his head up to catch him in a careful kiss. He cups Sakusa’s cheek in his buzzing palm, and releases a breath through his nose. He curls his other hand around the nape of his neck, brushing against his undercut delicately. The hair is a little too long, like Sakusa is due for a haircut, and Atsumu feels embarrassingly tender at the thought. Sakusa’s hands settle on his hips like an invitation and Atsumu leans against him, sighing into the kiss again when their bodies connect in a warm line.

Sakusa’s lips move gently against his and Atsumu stretches his arms around his shoulders to hold him closer. It’s the best he’s felt in _weeks_ , since the last time he’d been kissing Sakusa, actually, and it’s _embarrassing_ , but not embarrassing enough to stop the giddy rush of delight building in his chest. It’s followed closely by the familiar tingle of _want_ that seems like a Pavalovian response to being pressed against Sakusa at this point, but for now, he ignores it.

He lets himself bask in the tenderness of the kiss instead, even as his mind fogs over, and syrupy heat pools in his chest. Sakusa isn’t pushing for more either, though his hands have squirmed beneath Atsumu’s shirt to press against the warm skin of his lower back. Atsumu is the one to break away, pressing wet, light kisses along his jaw. He pauses at his ear and drags his teeth against his earlobe lightly, grinning at the subtle twitch of Sakusa’s shoulders and the huff of breath he feels against his throat.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about kissin’ ya again for weeks, ya know,” he murmurs, blowing lightly against his ear. It elicits another faint shiver and Atsumu presses closer to him in response. “I missed ya.”

Sakusa’s hands abandon his waist and dip into his back pockets, pulling him a little closer. Atsumu makes a pleased noise and nuzzles against his ear, nipping at the curve of it lightly. Sakusa’s head dips down and he presses a lingering kiss beneath Atsumu’s ear.

“Talk after?” he asks, and Atsumu shivers at his tone. He rolls his hips forward and drops his hands to Sakusa’s waist to pull him closer.

“Yeah. I think last time I saw ya we were in the middle of somethin’...”

Sakusa snorts against his throat and gives his ass a firm squeeze. “Subtle.”

“Too subtle? How about this- if ya don’t finger me soon, Omi-” Atsumu pushes away from him, grinning at the irritated furrow of his brow. He steps backwards into the bedroom, dragging the edge of his shirt up over his stomach tauntingly. Sakusa’s eyes follow the movement, dropping down to his abs with barely concealed interest and Atsumu feels his cheeks heat with a pleased blush at the attention. “If ya don’t get to it, I’ll just have to do it myself.”

Sakusa’s eyes flicker back up to his face and Atsumu winks, turning away to tug his shirt off. He flings it to the side carelessly and starts undoing his jeans on his path to the bed. He doesn’t glance back- doesn’t want to show that he cares if Sakusa is following or not, that’s part of the _game_ \- but he hears the dull _fwap_ of Sakusa’s slippers being kicked in the direction of the front door and the _whoosh_ of his sweater flying into the hamper in the corner. Atsumu kicks off his jeans and crawls onto the bed, huffing a laugh when hands immediately land on his back.

Sakusa clamps his hands on his hips and shoves him onto his back before he can settle. He undoes his belt quickly to shove off his jeans before climbing over him. His mouth is curled into an irritated pout, but Atsumu has a sneaking suspicion he’s attempting to hide a smile, if the faint crinkles at the corner of his eyes mean anything. “You’re a brat.”

Atsumu shifts back against the bed and spreads his legs open around Sakusa, tucking his arms beneath his head. He flashes him a lazy grin, bumping his hip with his knee. “Maybe. Get to it.”

Sakusa arches a brow. Before Atsumu has a chance to react, Sakusa lands a solid _slap_ to the outside of his thigh, cushioned by the thin fabric of his briefs. Atsumu yelps and covers his thigh with both hands, cheeks suddenly _burning._ The slap didn’t particularly hurt (which meant Sakusa had absolutely held back) but it was a shock, and Atsumu’s tongue feels a little too thick in his mouth.

“What the fuck are ya-”

“Don’t be a brat,” Sakusa says simply, shooting him a smug look. He shifts down without waiting for a response, pressing a brief, apologetic kiss against Atsumu’s thigh before hooking his fingers under the band of his underwear with a questioning glance.

Atsumu raises his hips without hesitation, covering his mouth with a hand to stop himself from saying something _truly_ idiotic like _again_ or _harder._ Sakusa eases his underwear off, skimming his fingers along his thighs and calves as he goes. He sits back, pausing to cradle Atsumu’s ankles one at a time, peeling off his socks to drop to the floor with the rest of their clothes. He turns his head, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of his calf. Atsumu shifts against the sheets, breath freezing in his lungs under Sakusa’s steady gaze.

“Can you reach the drawer?” Sakusa asks, tipping his chin towards the side table.

Atsumu swallows and twists to the side, stretching to reach into the bedside table. He finds a bottle of lube and a box of condoms next to a scattering of pens, spare bottles of hand sanitizer, and a half-empty box of tissues and grabs them quickly, excited nerves swooping dangerously in his belly. He holds out the lube with what he hopes is an impish smile, wiggling it at Sakusa encouragingly.

“Feels a little light, Omi-Omi. Been busy?” he taunts.

Sakusa takes the bottle with an arched brow, leaning closer to press another kiss against the ticklish skin just above his knee. “I had to practice, didn’t I?” he says, like that doesn’t make Atsumu’s brain go fuzzy at the edges. The thought of Sakusa laying in his bed, fingers twisting into himself-

“Omi,” he says, and he’s not even embarrassed when his voice cracks. “Can I-”

“Next time, maybe.” Sakusa smirks against his skin and shifts closer, pushing Atsumu’s legs back with gentle hands.

“Fuck,” Atsumu moans, dropping his head back against the blankets. “Yer gonna kill me, ya know?”

“I’m going to fuck you first,” Sakusa says nonchalantly, emphasizing the statement with a pronounced _click_ of the bottle cap. 

Atsumu drops his arm across his eyes with a strained laugh, lifting his hips. _“Fuck.”_

He feels Sakusa shift over him. His fingers close around Atsumu’s wrist and push his arm back against the mattress, lips brushing along his jaw, ending in a careful nip in the soft hollow of his throat. “Hey,” Sakusa murmurs. Atsumu peels one eye open to peek up at him, heart thudding painfully at the fondness in Sakusa’s gaze that he knows for sure, this time, he’s not imagining.

“Mm?”

“Kiss?” Sakusa smiles, small and real, no trace of his usual smugness. Atsumu hadn’t really thought it was possible for him to look much prettier, and yet. Atsumu lifts his unrestrained hand to trace the curve of his lips with a thumb, huffing a laugh when Sakusa snaps his teeth at it gently.

“Thought ya’d never ask,” he mumbles, and tugs Sakusa down to meet him. The first few kisses are soft, slow presses that make Atsumu shiver at the almost-not-enough. But slowly Sakusa begins lingering, moving into deeper kisses until Atsumu forgets what they were doing before, all of his attention narrowed to the glide of their tongues and the pleasant sting of Sakusa’s teeth and the lazy friction of their bodies. Every time Sakusa moves close enough for Atsumu’s cock to graze against his stomach, Atsumu arches closer, chasing the seductive friction with quiet moans.

Sakusa releases his wrist at some point and Atsumu takes advantage of the opportunity to pull him closer. He drags his nails across Sakusa’s back just to feel the stutter of his breath against his cheek. He’s too distracted to notice Sakusa fiddling with the lube and the first brush of warm, slick finger against his rim makes him gasp, twisting out of the kiss with a full body shiver. When he opens his eyes, Sakusa’s already watching him.

“Alright?”

“Surprised me,” Atsumu manages. He tilts his hips into his touch and drags his hands up to curl his fingers into Sakusa’s hair. “But _I_ like surprises.”

Sakusa huffs a laugh against his cheek and turns his head to capture him in another kiss. His touch is almost too light as he massages slick fingers in a careful circle against Atsumu’s rim. He can’t quite focus on the kiss anymore, too consumed with the feeling of someone else touching him- and it’s so fucking _different._ Atsumu isn’t a gentle person, definitely not to himself. When he fingers himself it’s fast, perfunctory, chasing a _very_ clear end goal. Sakusa’s touch is almost _reverent_ and Atsumu’s thighs are trembling by the time Sakusa eases just one knuckle deep, flexing gently and easing deeper at an achingly slow pace.

Atsumu drops his head back against the bed, giving up on the kiss entirely. He’s breathing too hard for what they’re doing, squirming down against the pressure ineffectually; at some point Sakusa had taken hold of his other hip, keeping him anchored firmly to the bed. But he seems to get the message anyway, and when he finally presses his first finger all the way in, there’s no sting and Atsumu croaks, _“Omi”_ like a fucking prayer.

Sakusa curls his finger, massaging firmly. When Atsumu finally convinces himself to open his eyes, Sakusa is watching him, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. There’s a flush across his cheeks and nose even though Atsumu hasn’t even _done_ anything to him yet and his lips are parted in an unfairly distracting way.

“You feel so good,” Sakusa murmurs, and it clicks. Sakusa is looking at him with the exact same awe as he did when Atsumu was opening himself up for him. The attention makes him _ache,_ and he shifts to loop his arms around Sakusa’s neck, swallowing hard.

“Omi,” he whispers, and he barely recognizes himself when he says, “More.”

Sakusa makes a muted noise, forehead dropping against Atsumu’s. He brushes their noses together and then there’s a second finger gently pressing into him, slotting in beside the first with only a faint burn that dissolves almost immediately. Sakusa spreads his fingers in slow pulses, thumb rubbing against his rim to ease the stretch. Atsumu tips his head up, brushing their lips with a shaky moan.

“You- you’re doin’ s’ good,” Atsumu mumbles. “I can- take more, promise, _Omi._ ”

“Shh.” Sakusa kisses him again, messy and brief. “Almost-”

 _“Fuck,”_ Atsumu whines, hips jolting when Sakusa’s fingers curl and _that’s it that’s it-_

“Got you,” Sakusa mumbles, and Atsumu can feel his grin against his mouth. Sakusa rubs his fingers in firm half circles against his prostate and Atsumu shudders under the attention, trembling with the effort of keeping his legs apart. Just when it’s reaching the edge of too much, Sakusa eases off, scissoring his fingers again. Atsumu only notices a third finger squeezing in along the first two as a distant pressure, brain still fuzzy from the onslaught of focused pleasure.

“Holy fuck,” Atsumu manages. He tries to rock down against his fingers again and whines when Sakusa’s hand clamps down on his hip. “Omi _fuck,_ c’mon, enough-”

“Almost,” Sakusa repeats, and he sounds _unbearably_ smug. So much for sweet smiles. Atsumu opens his mouth to complain and it comes out as a high, embarrassing keen instead when Sakusa taps rhythmically against that spot again, little sparks of pleasure skating up his spine in relentless waves.

“Oh _fuck-_ ” Atsumu sinks his nails into the curve of Sakusa’s shoulder blades. He can barely appreciate the muffled groan he gets in return, toes curling into the comforter. “ _Shit,_ Omi- _fuck-”_

The onslaught stops and Omi’s fingers spread in him again, pumping in and out at a lazy pace that makes it hard to blink the stars from his eyes. Sakusa leans back enough for Atsumu to actually see him, and the smug turn of his lips is _exactly_ what Atsumu expected. Atsumu glares, or thinks he does- it’s a little hard to focus.

“You’re a _bastard,_ I’m ready, ya- _ah-_ you c’n tell, fuck-”

“I don’t know,” Sakusa muses, curling his fingers in a way that makes Atsumu’s breath hitch. “Are you?”

Atsumu narrows his eyes and twists his leg to kick weakly at Sakusa’s hip. _“Yes.”_

“If you’re sure,” Sakusa agrees, and withdraws his fingers without warning. Atsumu chokes out a whine at the loss. His hips jerks uselessly, finally free of Sakusa’s hold with nothing to chase.

“Fuck-”

Sakusa withdraws entirely, picking up the box of condoms abandoned on the bedside table. It’s unopened, and the time it takes him to rip into it gives Atsumu just enough space to collect himself. He sits up and ignores the watery feeling in his legs to shove Sakusa back. 

Sakusa arches a brow, back bumping into the wall beside his bed. “What?”

Atsumu takes a deep breath and shifts, swinging his legs over Sakusa’s thighs. He holds out a hand expectantly for the condom, ignoring the fact that he _knows_ he’s pink from head to toe, and sweaty, and already trembling near the edge. He forces more confidence into his voice than he’s really feeling and says, “Ya said I couldn’t ride ya last time, so I’m gonna do it this time.”

The bravado is worth it for the way it makes Sakusa’s eyes darken just a bit more and the flush on his cheeks burns. He still nudges Atsumu’s hand away to roll the condom on himself, but as soon as he does, his hands are on Atsumu’s hips to tug him closer.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu slings one arm around his shoulders, heart pounding hard enough to ring in his ears. “Really sure. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Sakusa agrees, thumbs pressing into the sensitive hollows of his hips. “Not going to say no to you, Atsumu.”

Atsumu stills, staring at him. That- _that_ was a sweeping statement of consent, an acknowledgement of trust and faith and a belief that Atsumu wouldn’t _ask_ for anything that Sakusa wouldn’t want. An emotion is bubbling in his chest that has him embarrassingly close to tears. The hand that had been locked in Sakusa’s hair gentles, combing through his mused curls.

“Omi…”

Sakusa glances away for a split second before meeting his gaze again. Atsumu isn’t sure what _shy_ looks like on Sakusa, but it might be this. “Weren’t you doing something?” he murmurs. Atsumu can tell he’s trying to sound casual, but he can hear the trace of discomfort and the echo of _talk after_ rings in his ears.

He tightens his fingers in Sakusa’s hair again. “I’m gonna make ya feel _so_ good,” he promises, and reaches back to guide Sakusa to his entrance. 

Despite Sakusa’s efforts, Atsumu still _burns_ with the initial stretch. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing as he sinks down. It feels fucking _endless_ and then suddenly he’s fully seated and the burn is secondary to the absolutely exquisite feeling of being _full._

He doesn’t realize his mouth is hanging open until he’s gone still, panting softly as he gets accustomed to the stretch. He opens his eyes in a dizzy flutter and when he looks at Sakusa, he has to fight the urge to close them again, absolutely overwhelmed by the look on his face. Sakusa cheeks are flushed darker than before and when Atsumu cups his cheek in one hand, he can feel the heat of them like a brand against his palm. His eyes are half-lidded and focused on Atsumu in a way that makes his chest clench with a heady mix of nerves and _pride._

“Okay?” Sakusa asks. His voice is faint, cracking just a hair in the middle. Atsumu fucking _adores_ him.

“Yeah.” Atsumu smiles, stroking his thumb across the arch of his cheek bone. “You?”

“Is that even a question?” Sakusa’s brow furrows and Atsumu huffs out a laugh. He tips forward to kiss him just because he wants to and because he _can._ Sakusa meets him halfway, stroking his hands slowly up Atsumu’s sides. It raises the hair on his arms, the touch somewhere between soothing and ticklish. Atsumu shifts, tentatively lifting a fraction and grinding back down in a way that makes them both moan.

It takes longer than Atsumu would like to build up a rhythm. For one, actually moving means he has to pull away from the kiss, which he resents on principle. For another, he hadn’t anticipated the way the angle would press into him _just_ right. Every time he sinks down, his legs tremble. By the time he’s managed to get the pace right, he feels half-dumb with pleasure, and he can’t control the moans and gasps and _Omis_ falling out of his mouth. 

He’s holding onto Sakusa’s shoulders tight enough that it must be painful. He’ll have imprints of Atsumu’s nails in his skin in the morning, but if the half-swallowed moans he’s making against Atsumu’s throat are any indicator, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Omi, _ah,_ is it-?” He can’t even get the whole question out, but Sakusa seems to understand regardless.

“So good,” Sakusa mumbles. His hands are locked around Atsumu’s hips and Atsumu didn’t realize until just now that Sakusa’s arms are flexing, _lifting_ him as he moves. He lets out a breathy laugh, prying his hands away from Sakusa’s shoulders to wrap around his biceps instead, just to feel his muscles work. “Fuck- _Atsumu._ You feel so good-”

Hearing his name sends another wave of pleasure crashing over him and he loses his rhythm for a moment, grinding down against him shakily. “Oh, fuck, I can’t-” He abandons his hold on Sakusa’s arms to wrap himself around his shoulders instead, burying his face in his hair. “Fuck, _fuck-”_

Sakusa’s hips twitch up, pressing deeper and forcing a little whimper out of Atsumu that he’ll be embarrassed about as soon as he isn’t tettering on the edge of what promises to be the best orgasm of his entire fucking life. “Okay?” Sakusa asks, and this time instead of sweet it’s _smug_ and Atsumu would hate him for it if he didn’t feel a little smug himself.

“Fuck you,” Atsumu mutters, heatless, and does his best to build up a rhythm again, even though his thighs are quaking. He’s so fucking _close. “God,_ fuck-”

“You’re shaking.” Sakusa nips at his ear and the little flash of pain makes Atsumu see white for a split second. He grinds down against him again, shuddering. “My turn?”

Atsumu bites his lip and when he tries to move again, his thighs give out almost immediately. He glowers at his own legs mutinously _(the fuck is all that muscle for if it’s gonna give out now)_ before relenting. “Yeah, Omi, c’mon-”

Sakusa hums against his throat and hooks his hands over Atsumu’s shoulders. He twists, pushing Atsumu down to the mattress and Atsumu hooks his legs around his hips to keep them anchored together, stuttering out a gasp at the shift. It takes them a minute to rearrange their too-long limbs in Sakusa’s narrow bed. For one terrible moment, Sakusa withdraws to shift Atsumu’s hips, shoving a pillow beneath them to lift him up. Atsumu clenches around _nothing_ and whimpers, reaching out for Sakusa immediately.

“Fuckin’ _c’mere,_ I’m fine-”

Sakusa shifts back over him and silences him with a kiss just as he presses back in. Atsumu can’t find it in him to complain after that, not when Sakusa picks up at an immediately bruising pace, the speed a sharp contrast to the steady rhythm from moments before. Atsumu hooks his legs around him and lets him take control. He’d done plenty of work already, muscles still quivering at the brink of exhaustion.

He’s back at the edge almost immediately, head dropping against the sheets when kissing suddenly feels too complicated. “Omi, fuck-” He arches his back a bit, trying to get him just a little deeper, chasing his release. “Omi, _Omi,_ wanna come-”

Atsumu doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opens them again, Sakusa is watching him. Atsumu heart jumps and he feels suddenly fucking _raw._ It’s Omi, it’s _his_ Omi, with the same eyes that stared desperately down at him when they were seventeen, and Atsumu doesn’t ever want to look at anyone else, _ever._

 _“Omi,”_ he says again, and does his best to hold Sakusa’s face between his hands, but Omi said _talk later_ so Atsumu digs his teeth into his lip to stop himself from saying anything else.

Sakusa’s brows furrow for just a moment and his hips stutter as he shifts, and then there’s a hand around Atsumu’s length. It’s so much at once he almost shouts, arching away from bed and into Sakusa’s touch. He’s tipping over the edge before he can suck in another breath and everything narrows down to a white rush of pleasure. He doesn’t consciously feel the way Sakusa’s movement changes, just knows that the world returns and as he comes down, Sakusa is still fucking him, but now his hips are moving in languid rolls. He’s still stroking Atsumu through the last of his orgasm, his other hand rubbing soothingly up and down Atsumu’s thigh as his muscles relax.

Atsumu’s back drops back to the mattress and his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. He watches Sakusa blurrily as the last shivers of pleasure crawl through his body and he realizes distantly that his hands have fallen to the mattress beside his head, and he’s not touching Sakusa’s face anymore, which sort of sucks.

He makes a muted noise when the soothing touches and slow thrusts go from good to too-much and Sakusa stills, hands pushing into the mattress on either side of Atsumu’s hips instead. There’s still a faint furrow between his brows, and Atsumu wrinkles his nose in response, flapping a hand bonelessly in the vague direction of his face.

“Wha’s that look for?” he mumbles.

Sakusa lifts one hand, brushing his thumb lightly against Atsumu’s cheek. “You’re crying,” he says, voice tight.

Atsumu touches his own cheek and blinks. He fucking _is_ crying, just a little, just a few errant tears. It shocks a laugh out of him and he swipes at his face. “Oh well _that’s_ fuckin’ embarrassing.”

“You’re okay?”

Atsumu can’t stop a little giggle from sneaking out, mouth shifting into a grin he’s _sure_ looks a little too dopey. “‘M _great.”_ He shifts his hips slightly and shivers when it makes him clench around Sakusa, who is still inside of him and still hard. _“Mm-”_

“Sorry-”

“Nah.” Atsumu shifts his hips again, intentionally, eyes locked on Sakusa’s face. “Keep goin’. Yer turn.”

Sakusa hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward once instinctively. His eyes are still clouded with arousal, and when Atsumu moves again his breath catches and his shoulders twitch forward, a tell-tale sign that he’s _close._ “Fuck, _Atsumu-”_

Atsumu grins, ignoring the too-sensitive shiver that skates up his spine. Worth it. “C’mon, Omi,” he whispers, and lifts his hands to cradle the sides of his neck, thumbs pressing into the trembling muscles in his shoulders. _“Gimme.”_

Sakusa groans, dropping his head to Atsumu’s shoulder with a full-body shiver. He stutters into motion again, lacking any previous rhythm. The sensation teeters back-and-forth from bad to good and Atsumu wraps his arms around him with a moan, nuzzling his cheek against his hair. He can feel Sakusa panting against his neck, damp and hot. He cards his fingers through Sakusa’s hair and turns his head to press his lips against his ear, moaning at a sudden, sharp snap of his hips.

“S’good,” he whispers. Sakusa makes a noise like he’s been punched, face pressing closer to his throat, tugging his own hair in Atsumu’s grip at the same time. “S’so good.” He clenches around him with a soft whine. “‘M all yours, Omi-”

 _“Fuck.”_ Sakusa’s hands dig into his waist and he tugs him as closer, pressed as deep as possible. Atsumu can _feel_ it when he comes and can’t help hiding a smug grin against Sakusa’s ear as he shakes through it. He strokes his hands slowly through the frizzy length of Sakusa’s hair, gently working out knots caused by his careless hands as Sakusa comes down, body slowly melting against him. Atsumu relaxes under his weight, content to bask in the afterglow despite the slowly cooling sweat and come sandwiched between their chests.

In a surprise to absolutely no one, Sakusa is the one to move first. He peels away from Atsumu and withdraws from him slowly, disposing of the condom in the tiny trash-can beside his bed. Atsumu turns his head to watch him, feeling a little too boneless and satiated to complain until Sakusa stands.

“Hey- where ya goin’?” Atsumu shifts up onto his elbows, ignoring the ache in- well, everything. He wonders if he could include fucking as an individual workout and balks internally at how explaining _that_ to Coach Foster would go.

“Shower,” Sakusa says, voice coming out rough and a little sleepy. He glances back at Atsumu and nods towards the bathroom. “Come on.”

Atsumu blinks and points at himself. “Ya want me to shower with ya?” Sakusa rolls his eyes and walks away without further invitation. Atsumu scrambles to follow him on jelly legs, grinning despite himself.

If he had imagined a shower with Sakusa before (he had), it had always been of the _sexy_ variety or with the expectation of annoyingly meticulous cleanliness. In actuality, it ends up being a lot of casual touching. It’s like the presence of water has somehow erased Sakusa’s usual post-sex squeamishness. After a cursory rinse, he lets Atsumu lean against him while they soap up, and washes Atsumu’s back with gentle hands and lets Atsumu return the favor. He refuses to allow Atsumu wash his hair (“You’ll fuck it up.”) but he washes Atsumu’s hair without being asked and by the time the water is off and they’re wrapped up in towels, Atsumu feels half-asleep on his feet.

He changes into his pajamas (the _energen_ pants he had stolen from Sakusa months before) and helps Sakusa change his sheets in an amiable haze. Afterwards, Sakusa fetches them both a bottle of water and a packet of trail mix. They eat in silence, sitting side-by-side on Sakusa’s bed, close enough for their knees to press together.

When they’re done, Sakusa gathers up their trash, tosses it, and turns off all the lights except for his bedside lamp. He sits back down, rolls back his shoulders, and looks at Atsumu expectantly.

“I said we could talk after,” he says. He folds his hands together in his lap, and Atsumu does know how to be nice occasionally, so he doesn’t call him out on the subtle, anxious way he twists them together. “So-”

“I like ya,” Atsumu says immediately, because he’d nearly bitten his own lip off trying not to say it about a hundred times in the last hour or so. Saying it feels _good,_ like he’s been walking around with a weight on his shoulders for months, and he’s finally gotten to drop it. So he keeps going. “I like ya a lot, Omi. I think I liked ya when we were in high school, even, but definitely since the first time we fucked, and I think if I had any chance of not likin’ ya, I lost it when ya kissed me that night ‘Samu called all fucked up, and-”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa interrupts. Atsumu shuts his mouth immediately, and his cheeks feel warm. But Sakusa is smiling, just a little, something small and soft, and his cheeks look a little pink too. “I like you.”

If saying it had been a relief, _hearing_ it is a religious experience. Atsumu doesn’t feel tired at all anymore. In fact, he could probably play a five set match no fucking problem because _this_ is maybe the happiest moment of his life, maybe second only to signing with the Jackals, and even that hadn’t made him feel this _much._

“Sap,” Atsumu accuses, biting back his smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was I the one monologuing about my feelings?” Sakusa arches a brow.

“Ya could.” Atsumu leans forward, balancing his chin in his palm. “I’d listen.”

There’s a dangerous flicker in Sakusa’s eyes and he shifts to mimic Atsumu’s posture. “I liked you in third year too,” he says, and Atsumu’s heart feels like it’s jumped all the way to his throat. “That’s why I hooked up with you at nationals.”

“No shit!” Atsumu leans forward. “Ya didn’t.”

Sakusa smirks, and it’s not really fair that he doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. “According to Motoya, I’ve been flirting with you since we played each other our first year. I remember it differently, since I was pretty infatuated with Wakatoshi at the time-”

Atsumu makes a muted noise of horror and leans back. “You liked _Ushijima?”_

Sakusa’s smirk widens. “Wakatoshi-kun is a very disciplined person. I appreciate that.”

“Yer a freak, Omi,” he accuses. “I can’t believe ya liked Ushijima and _me._ I’m nothin’ like him!”

Sakusa’s smirk softens a bit until he’s got that delicate smile again, and Atsumu’s heart really isn’t made to deal with this sort of emotional whiplash. “I know.”

Atsumu looks away and twists his fingers in the edge of his stolen sweats. “So ya really do. Like me.”

“Yes, Atsumu.” Sakusa reaches over, taking hold of Atsumu’s fidgeting hand and twisting until their fingers are laced. “I really do.”

Atsumu lifts his head and grins, squeezing his fingers tightly. “So much you’ll let me kiss ya again?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes.

\---

They tuck themselves into bed not long after, since it’s late and Atsumu had spent the day at practice and then traveling, and Sakusa had been in class then played a full game, not to _mention_ the sex.

It’s a tight fit in Sakusa’s little bed, for which Atsumu is privately grateful. It was clearly not meant to fit anyone over six feet tall, much less two athletes, which means that if Sakusa had been feeling any kind of aversion to a good cuddle session, he has literally no room to complain. The biggest surprise is that, after much tossing and turning, _Sakusa_ ends up with his back tucked against Atsumu’s chest. Getting to hold Sakusa close (hands tucked beneath his shirt, nose buried in the back of his neck, toes pressed against the back of his calves) is so nice, he doesn’t even complain about the fact that the arm tucked beneath Sakusa’s body is already going a bit numb.

Atsumu’s nearly asleep when his phone rings, Osamu’s personal ringtone blaring obnoxiously from Sakusa’s bedside table. Sakusa makes a muted noise of irritation and turns his face into his pillow.

“No.”

Atsumu has to lean across him to dismiss the call, and presses a kiss against his shoulder as an apology when he settles back in. “Sorry, Omi,” he mumbles. Sakusa grunts again and scoots back against him, tugging his arm back over his waist. He doesn’t let go of Atsumu’s wrist, and Atsumu fucking _likes_ him.

They’ve just gotten settled when his phone starts ringing _again._

“I take it back,” Sakusa mumbles. “Osamu _is_ the more annoying one.”

“Offended ya ever thought that was in question.” Atsumu presses his teeth into Sakusa’s nape with a fake growl, and Sakusa flicks his hand in retaliation.

“Just answer it.”

“Fine.” Atsumu leans across him again and picks up his phone, dropping his charger into the abyss between the bed and the table. He stays propped on an elbow, flicking his thumb across the _accept_ button before answering. “What do ya _want,_ ‘Samu?”

_“So yer not dead.”_

Atsumu rolls his eyes heavenward and shifts back into Sakusa’s back, nuzzling between his shoulder blades indulgently. “What are ya talkin’ about?”

_“Bokuto called me to ask if I could make Akaashi some onigiri and send ‘em back to Osaka with ya.”_

Atsumu freezes. Oh, fuck.

_“See, I was a little confused by that. Seein’ as how yer not here, so sendin’ something back with ya might be sorta complicated.”_

“‘’Samu-”

 _“So, since ya didn’t reply to my texts askin’ where ya were-”_ Atsumu winces. He hadn’t really bothered to check his messages. _“-ya can see why I’m glad to find out ya aren’t dead somewhere between here an’ Osaka. And pretty curious what ya might be doin’ if ya felt like ya ought to lie about it.”_

Atsumu lets out a slow breath, steels himself, and says, “Well, shit. I didn’t wanna tell ya this way.”

There’s a long pause. _”Are ya in trouble, ‘Tsumu?”_

Atsumu’s lips twitch and he muffles a snort into Sakusa’s shoulder. Sakusa kicks at him mildly. “Nah. I’m just in bed with Sakusa Kiyoomi at the moment.”

There’s another pause, a little longer, and Atsumu can practically _feel_ Osamu’s irritation. _“Do ya ever stop lyin’?”_

“I’m tellin’ the truth!”

_“Just like how ya hooked up with him at Nationals, huh? This is a weird one, even fer you.”_

“I was tellin’ the truth then, too.”

_“Yeah, right. Where are ya really, scrub?”_

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Hang on.” He mutes the call and leans far enough forward to see Sakusa’s face. He looks vaguely pissed even in the dark. “Hey, Omi?”

“What.”

“Since ya told Komori about us hookin’ up, it’s really only fair-”

“Okay.”

“But he’s kinda not gonna believe me, because-”

“You’re a habitual liar and Osamu has developed a sense of self-preservation?”

Atsumu sticks out his lip. “ _Hey._ I’ve never lied to _you.”_ He doesn’t need to see Sakusa’s face to know the look he’s getting. “Not about anything important!”

“What do you want, Atsumu?”

Atsumu leans his chin on Sakusa’s shoulder, smiling down at him. “Can I prove it to ‘im?”

Sakusa lets out a heavy sigh and stretches out an arm to flip on the bedside light to its lowest setting. His eyelids are particularly heavy, and Atsumu feels sort of terrible about keeping him awake. It also feels totally worth it.

Atsumu settles in against him and unmutes his phone. “Video callin’ ya now. Accept it.”

_“Wha-”_

Atsumu taps the video icon and has about three seconds to adjust the angle of their camera to perfectly frame himself and Sakusa before the call connects properly. When Osamu comes into view, his brows are furrowed and his teeth are clenched in irritation. From the looks of it, he’s sitting on the couch in their mother’s living room, in an overly large sweater Atsumu is pretty sure used to belong to Aran. He smirks at him, chin still pressed into Sakusa’s shoulder.

Watching his irritation be replaced by shock, and immediately followed by abject horror is the second most gratifying thing to happen to Atsumu today.

 _“No,”_ he says, voice oddly croaky.

Atsumu gives his best shit-eating grin, and the Sakusa staring back at him from the corner of his screen blinks boredly at his brother. “Told ya.”

“Hello, Osamu,” Sakusa greets tonelessly.

 _“No,”_ Osamu repeats. He leans away from his phone like distance will somehow make Atsumu _not_ with Sakusa.

“We’ve been hookin’ up for about a year,” Atsumu says loftily. “First time really was at nationals, though, so ya can’t say I didn’t tell ya.”

_“There’s no fuckin’ way.”_

“There’s been plenty of fucking,” Sakusa says, and it’s only because Atsumu knows him that he can pick up the edge of humor in his tone.

Osamu’s jaw drops. 

Atsumu fucking _loves_ him.

 _“Oh no,”_ Osamu says faintly.

“Anyway,” Atsumu says, chipper. “As ya can see, I’m not dead. Looks like ya wish ya were, though. Must be tough! Sleep well!”

He ends the call before Osamu can reply and tosses his phone onto the side table. He leans down, planting a loud kiss on Sakusa’s cheek. “Yer the best, ya know?”

“Can we _please_ go to sleep now?”

Atsumu snorts and leans over to turn off the light.

\---

Atsumu wakes up the next morning with his mouth full of dark hair and his left arm completely numb. Sakusa is still dead asleep, half of his weight reclined against Atsumu’s chest. He’s kicked one foot out from under the covers in the night, letting a little cool air beneath their covers. Sakusa is warm to the touch, and when Atsumu nuzzles against the nape of his neck, he smells like sleep-sweat and shampoo.

 _Holy shit,_ he thinks, while carefully prying his arm from beneath Sakusa’s body. _I think I really do kind of love him._

Sakusa stirs when Atsumu’s arm is almost extracted and makes an irritated noise, rolling onto his stomach and away from him. Atsumu’s arm is free, but Sakusa’s shoulders nearly nudge him right off the mattress and he has to loop an arm around him and hold on to not be thrown from the bed.

Sakusa doesn’t react, face buried in his pillow. Atsumu slumps his chin against his shoulder and flexes his hand until the pins and needles sensation goes away. When it does, he shifts up to kiss the side of Sakusa’s neck, humming softly.

“Omi,” he mumbles. “Omi, wake up.”

“Shut up.” Sakusa tips his head, trying to force Atsumu away. Atsumu nuzzles deeper, humming against his ear.

“Omi, it’s important.”

“It’s _early._ I’m _sleeping.”_

“It’s like, almost ten.”

“I said it’s _early.”_

Atsumu snorts and bites his earlobe gently. He doesn’t miss the way Sakusa relaxes, head tipping a bit in the opposite direction to give Atsumu a little more room. “Yer not a mornin’ person, huh, Omi-Omi?”

“Shh.”

“C’mon, really,” Atsumu coaxes. He blows cool air against his ear and barely manages to avoid being thrown off the bed when Sakusa jerks his shoulder beneath him violently. “Hey-!”

“I’m _sleeping.”_

“I’ll be quick!”

Sakusa makes another irritated noise and shoves at him until he can roll over and face him. There are soft pink creases on one of his cheeks from where he’d been pressed into the pillow. His hair is flat on that side, and sticking up in frizzy ringlets on the other, significantly _larger_ than Atsumu has ever seen it before. His eyes are barely open and he’s glaring at Atsumu through narrow slits, mouth pressed in an irritated line.

Atsumu’s heart feels like it’s being put through the dryer on the _tumble_ setting. He leans forward and presses a quick kiss against Sakusa’s beauty marks ( _finally_ ) before leaning back to look at him properly. “I realized I forgot to ask ya somethin’ last night.”

Sakusa’s eyes narrow further, somehow, and Atsumu isn’t actually sure he’s not already falling asleep again. He wiggles cold fingers beneath the tail of Sakusa’s shirt just to make sure and Sakusa makes a noise, flinching away from the touch. His eyes open again. “ _What,_ Atsumu.”

“I forgot t’ ask ya if you’d be my boyfriend.” Atsumu rubs a hand against his ribs, with the barrier of his t-shirt between their skin, apologizing silently for his cold hands.

Sakusa blinks once. Twice. Then his eyes narrow again. “Are you fucking with me.”

Not the best reaction he could have hoped for, but also not the worst.

“Nope.” Atsumu snuggles closer until their noses are nearly touching. “Will ya be my boyfriend, Omi?”

Sakusa’s tongue-click is particularly impactful at such close range. Atsumu can’t help grinning, squeezing his hip. “I thought that was a given.”

Atsumu snorts. “So I gotta ask ya for it to be a date, but we can be _official_ without ever talkin’ about it?”

Sakusa’s eyebrows furrow, pained, and his eyes are nearly closed again. “Official,” he repeats, derisive.

“If ya say yer my boyfriend, I’ll leave ya alone.”

“As I said, I thought it was a _given.”_ Sakusa snakes an arm around his waist, tugging him closer. He presses his face beneath Atsumu’s chin with a groan. “Yes, you’re my boyfriend, shut up.”

Atsumu grins, nuzzling his face into Sakusa’s wild hair. “Yer my boyfriend.”

“ _Please,_ Atsumu.”

Atsumu mimes zipping his lips even though Sakusa can’t see. Sakusa’s body relaxes, breathing softening with sleep in less than forty-two seconds (he counts). Atsumu stays awake, even when it grows a bit too hot under the covers with Sakusa, who is apparently a human furnace. Even when his arm starts to fall asleep again, awkwardly bent between their bodies. Even when the need to piss goes from vague to threatening.

He ignores it all, would probably ignore any inconvenience, to be exactly where he is right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there it is!! thank you so much for reading, especially if you made it this far. i hope you enjoyed it!
> 
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